Home Office

Quiet of many days down poisoning the house.
Advice to "walk" is never wrong, easier to tip the lid.
The more possibilities for health and renewal, the longer the list,
the longer the list the fewer possibilities, etc.
Improbably, it was really at the DMV that I felt best,
Resigned to sitting still with others sitting still.
When everything was perfect, the milk and the sun,
the list was longer, graphomaniacal, impossible.
Snow, then, is a blessing and a direction, as are all
clear things but to clean, which is too much of the heart.
Also, to bend over and stand back up is unacceptable to me.
Quiet of many weeks lived in the chest, the stomach spared.
In between the weeping like peeing or eating toast.
There is no shoe without a flaw, and all advice points foot-ward.
Leaving the DMV is for another errand, not for a slow drift home,
but a slow drift home it is, or was, the time unclear past dark,
though it was light and still morning. When, in success,
with enough money for asparagus and beer, the condensation
breaks the bag. Glass so unpredictable, an imp of a vessel.
The sun making it harder to get up, which is new, for before
I blamed the window or the lack thereof or the exposure.
The last time I remembered the feeling of really dancing it
complicated the list though didn't quite make it longer but
somewhere in the closet is a sweatshirt to mail and in the fridge
a pile of dregs. Quiet of many hours spent without breath.