thus_conquered

Born on Sunday, crying,
Howled on Monday,
Whined on Tuesday,
Bitched on Wednesday,
Complained on Thursday,
Griped on Friday,
Grumbled on Saturday,
Died on Sunday, at last.

Saturday morning suddenly become
the opposite of itself
as long hours spent entertaining the child
steal long hours of sleep entertaining my dreams?
A future beckons where Saturday
resumes its rightful place
in my subconscious.

Two and three I noticed recently
equal five. I wonder at May 5th. In fact, May alone
would do.
Five years of good, does that mean the struggle
control negativity miscommunication frustration and distance
in these last two
end in three's time?
Then five brings next: change of status, change of heart,
change of ambition, change of need, or change of expectations?
My two little fives with me make three...
how lonely the two and the four and the six who started it all.

First, note the seagulls that hover and cry
at all the detritus exposed to the sky.
Avatars and celebrities and facts of no use
would stare glassy eyed at the gulls' squawked abuse.
One dips and steals from the roiling mass
a cracked and discarded long-stemmed glass;
one picks with delight at the rotting remains
of grammar rules and vocabulary caught in refrain;
one keeps its wary gaze pinned on the gush
of small-bodied people the world turns to mush;
and one small gull tries and fails to escape
the dashed hope of romance that tripped at the gate.
The feathery bodies of only these four
drop small bombs of hope at the coming of more.

Right now us three is
the family number but
Four loosens its stem

Branded into my flesh a tale of my existence
perhaps or just a fetish of a fetish: two.
The dragon did not uplift the heavy black dumpster
emblazoning my body with my stars
my predecessors my lineage my sexuality my philosophy
my confidence that two would always be important to me.
Eventually my two might be the first
covered by a second
negating and validating the thoughts of its inception
or two might just be
pretty.

...start with one.
Ambitious or martyrish, one still works
out on the street in its fish net desperation
one is looking out for
two coming

the clouds survey its progress
                      as it makes its way
                                                     downbreeze
parent trees silently applaud
                                                   with firey pompoms
it goes unnoticed by squirrels and cars
                                                                      but my muscles flutter apace
together we slip out into the Colorado blue
                                                                              and later land
among thousands in the dying grass.

I try to stay close on the heels of my shadow.
Growing taller and taller
the further from the light she goes
stretched thin.
In darkness
gone but of it.
In light stomped at times
crisp and pure enough
to lead me.

The wolf at my side
made of energy. No threat
left unexplored.
All signs are inspected.
Puddles are avoided.
A certain amount of panting
leads to stopping.

Her shadow never quite so tall
never so dark and pure.
A wolf shadow on my heels
is no threat
empty of energy and whirling
on this globe
like all of us,
like all the light.

Tar courses through me in reluctant

waves
Sludgey and thick

fingers
rise and fall

brain
trudges out on a black

tide
the ebb and flow

invisible
to the naked heavy lidded

eye
sleek ecstatic red blood a distant

memory
of a time when I

slept