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it's not a feeling it's a burble
in the middle of my stomach
when i lay out across all three cushions
oh i hear the morning birds
not yet three and still
but the burble
it moves me to laughter
unbidden and inexplicable
as though there were another
more amusing version of events
and necessarily too a grimmer one
layered atop that i normally perceive
and yes the use of chemicals
does bring these considerations
but i tell you in good faith
my ten story building last night
for a few moments truly
rocked like a cradle
as reflected by my innards
and the shapes cast
by the dark through the curtains
 *
between meetings i napped
the groceries weren't going to last
i touched my face in peace
wondered if my parents were ok (they were)
a software update installed
i sucked up dirt from the floor
mailed a letter made a list
outside dogs went on walks
i broke a few promises to myself
*
with slow forming intentions
to examine photographs of reptiles
on moderate doses of lsd
i ran for the train reflexively
snapped out a hand for the pole
as we lurched into motion
bits of cheese hit the floor
a paper bag crumped as a slice
was finished the east river shimmer
reflected through bullet proof windows
the thought of a park at dusk excited
every nostalgic part of me
and my texts were all superlative
we paused some fifteen feet above the concrete
and through the door i could make out [something]
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