Anxiety’s Raiment


Steeped in anxiety’s raiment. I go out. I come back in. Memory’s
vacant strap. There are always small birds twittering at
dawn. Battery life with its hollow echo. It’s eternity when the
power’s off. Coming back on. I row across quiet as if we were
bedmates counting each other’s fingers and toes.

After two centuries of increasing loneliness, I hang my little purse
on a peg. Each pedestrian hunches beneath her singular umbrella,
while light from the grand boulevards gilds it all. There is a
photograph that could not have been taken. A demolition artist
holding a cluster of forgotten ligaments.

Every notion breaks light as through a washed blind. I stir the air
with my commonplaces. Chemical response. Thinking it over.

There are so many nests at the very height. Cacophony’s flutter. I
know it must cease soon. Air my most industrious companion. Flared
out. Lantern fueled by water, wasteland. I bury the toxin deep and
then step back. Clothespin to my nose.

Barbed wire staves off the birds. Mows the wan the newly
warm. Replaces sinew. Sun’s out and I’m caught in catastrophe’s
elbow room. Gridlock’s chatter. Just a sketch now. A partially
destroyed event left out in the public domain.


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