the onset of a quiet crisis
sounds like suburbia, 2 a.m.
nothing
or a quiet electric hum.
somewhere across the country
in another life
mass was said,
the fur coat dusted off for a night
tossing and turning to a
familiar fear.
here,
i could be anyone.
it is a newness that feels old;
those things you think of incessantly
and years later,
when they are happening,
you wonder where you are in all of it.
two roads diverging
i can only stand and watch this for so long
dark and deep, but
i have promises to
keep to myself.
a quiet
a deadening or underground growth
sometimes i do not know
who you are in all this.
who i am
is.
untouched
in a room occupied
small talk until
spent-
a quiet death.
calm consideration.
waiting on some universe
to speak a word
to straighten this spine.
and Gabriel said
and then there was
and Gabriel was there
and there was a light
which meant something important was happening
a halo
a neon indication
and then there was something very scary and very new.
holidays do this strange thing
to identity.
it's mostly a gathering and
looking around and a
wondering where you fit.
and you see these gatherings as a potential pattern
and you see yourself
woven into any number of similar scenes.
and you wonder if any of them
would ever be enough to warm you.
that shivering part.