6 Feet Apart

An unforgiving mockingbird song
Echoless in the dead of night
The air is stifled and still
Rain clouds, oppressive downy pillows
Weigh down
On our pin-drop silent towns
Folks tucked hard
Breath-holding sanity
Hoard it like TP
I wish I could get these clouds off of me

Tell me I’m a breathing machine
Expose the stars,
Forgive this pause
Exhale into the distancing
Own the space
Where you expel your dirty air
What kind of grounded do you want to be?
Playing in it, laying in it, complaining in it?
Taking a minute?

This stillness is a buzzing whisper
With so much to consider
Veils that muffle the murmur
Unknown trails that lead into summer
The rights you have left
The impatience and doubt set adrift
Unseen currents of atmosphere
Shifting between us
The space that suffocates
The oppression of no embrace

Let it Go

My ribcage is merely

a pair of hands

holding it all in;

a protection of the heart

And the time has come

to pry those bony fingers loose

Let my heart

drift into the ethos

to free its restricted beat

and controlled perimeters

Yet I am terrified

My grip is detrimentally tight

It would take a crowbar and a boning knife

to release those paranoid claws

Scalpel, please.

Sure Footing

Too cautious,

I only step

where there is sure footing

which must be why

I can’t dance

like those bold souls

who flail about

without care

(and usually some grace).

A degree of calculation,

is my step

before any step,

tossing chance to the wind

and to the wolves,

and certainty,

my hovering angel.

But I

would rather be

paralyzed in fear

than misstep.

Stagnation

a better outcome

than risk.