Sad musings/questions on a stormy day

I wonder what shapes your mind makes, whether your thoughts are built up in towers or whether they crawl lean along the ground like pavement.

Where do you find curves in the city?
The arc of steel inside a sculpture, the swoop of a café mug.

How do you find the music to fit the storm?
First, listen to the wind. It is gusting softly through the fire grate like a grandmother blowing on a child’s too-hot porridge. Then choose Chris Garneau.

You are imagining you have all the time in the world. Time enough to learn to oversleep guiltlessly. Time enough to turn the small spoon inside the coffee cup over and over, the San Fran clang clang reminding of you of your grandfather.

How do you keep from mourning?
When the leaves you brought home from the park begin to dry out and curl, work hard at feeling nothing at all. If you cannot, make more tea.

I would like to see…a little more propriety
Cooperate with me
and answer me
without a plea
I know now, I know now, I know now…
I’m never gonna tell on you.

Sometimes you will forget why you are here. You may start to wonder at your place in the world and whether you take up too much space, or not enough. And you may feel like a puzzle piece who is dancing around the board, mixing and mingling and trying, trying trying…to fit in.

Why does the wind change directions so often?
That is Big Mother trying to get the kinks out of her back. All that hoisting billions of babies.

Strange how you have forgotten how it is to be alone. After all that time wearing it like an old coat. And it amazes you how slowly one drop of water can take to slide down the window, which defends your silence from the squall.

What is worth waiting for?
For the rain against the window to disguise the world as a cold, opaque dream.

I’m wearing me out
I’m wearing my old clothes
I’m writing all new poems
I’m riding in my car