Monday, August 15, 2005

Waiting for the cactus


It’s purple outside:
in ten minutes
it’s dirty milk,
rebellious grey swabs,
faintest eastern pink
cloud wash.


My internal clock
explodes
dead on purple.

Besides the succulent chaos
of a brain ajar
as I seethe through
the muslin
of the nightmare,
ramble rooms,
the constant upside
is not this
stealing of hours:

it’s knowing one morning
I’m going to catch
that cactus
just when its latest
tiny spurt of growth
shatters the terracotta pot.

No comments: