Reset Forty-Nine, Day Eighteen

[rejectomorph]

It was not quite dark when I woke from my Saturday evening nap, and I found myself sad, as I often do when waking up that time of day. Following a second breakfast I began preparing the large meal I'd planned with things I'd bought Friday. It was something that spent a long time on the stove, so I didn't actually eat until after midnight, and of course I made myself logy and have been nodding off ever since.

It's getting very close to the summer solstice. Not looking forward to summer and its heat.

The nights have been strangely silent here lately. No crickets, no mockingbird. There doesn't even seem to be as much traffic as there used to be, nor as many trains passing through the town. For being in the middle of a busy neighborhood this place can feel awfully isolated. Or maybe I'm just less aware of things around me than I used to be. My brain might die before I do. But if it does I don't see how I could know it. Maybe I already don't, huh? ::no crickets::




Sunday Verse

The Want Bone

by Robert Pinsky


The tongue of the waves tolled in the earth's bell.
Blue rippled and soaked in the fire of blue.
The dried mouthbones of a shark in the hot swale
Gaped on nothing but sand on either side.

The bone tasted of nothing and smelled of nothing,
A scalded toothless harp, uncrushed, unstrung.
The joined arcs made the shape of birth and craving
And the welded-open shape kept mouthing O.

Ossified cords held the corners together
In groined spirals pleated like a summer dress
But where was the limber grin, the gash of pleasure?
Infinitesimal mouths bore it away,

The beach scrubbed and etched and picked it clean.
But O I love you it sings, my little my country
My food my parent my child I want you my own
My flower my fin my life my lightness my O.