to be analog is to be alive

my life is one long run on sentence
joolie and i joke
interrupted by barking dogs


float-flying in swoops and circles
against sun-shined blue
two red tailed hawks
out the window
if there were a visual definition of effortless
this would be it


grief tangled in bermuda grass
while i bring myself to earth
hands and knees
ripping rhizomatic runners from dust-dirt
corinne and i leave gaps between sentences
room for the loss to swell and roll out

it’s the kind of thrum
that triggers my instinct to duck
(sudden sound vibrating)
while tending the leaning tomatoes
(plicking blighted branches off
a bouquet of yellowed leaves
in my hand)
first she makes a loop or two
stitching sky
then settles on the laundry line
two feet from me
we staredown
we heartbeat
we still-sit
for at least two minutes
while i wonder if my lavender shirt
appears to be something nectarful
i miss you kate
i whisper
crouched into tomato canopy
i love you
and we sit that way some more
before she ruffles herself
shakes out her wings
lifts them invisible towards sky


217’s photo document
sent across satellites
from the homo holidays
to me
man in blue tight bunny suit
quoted as saying
i’m so over pixels

to be analog is to be alive
i’m immortal, i move through the material world
i was born to be subjective
embrace contrast