A corduroy day
small hills and valleys settled with chill
not familiar yet
this morning sharpness
snaps cold fingers
in a call to attention
cutting through pretense and falsehood
only an arms length away.
An epidemic of such proportion that it infiltrates my dreaming
stirs itself into my first bitter sip
I can sometimes hear it whispered in the periphery of listening
to your calm reasoning.
Insects are intensely scary when they are swarming
a plague of locusts
are not anything like the grasshopper you find and hold in your hand
spellbound by the fine precision of its creation.
Mobs are the wasps that sting
so better not to get too close
but their wings, like the butterflies a thousand miles away
are causing the winds to lift the edges of our smooth flat sheets.
They may soon resemble sails with us on boats
we no longer know to navigate.
A corduroy day
with nap and ridges
like fur on the back of a fearful dog
reading the morning news.
