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I can be obsessive. For instance, last night I needed a command hook.
My mind couldn’t focus on “Principles of Biostatistics,” as fascinating as that book is, because I needed this $3 command hook to hang my keys by the door.

There’s a table by the door, I could easily put my keys there, but no. That’s where books go (am I too picky?). What’s funny is, I’d just been reading about ‘bias mitigation,' ya know, science is everywhere.

Still, I searched the boxes that I hadn’t unpacked
I looked around them too, did one fall in a crack?
Did I have one to begin with? I couldn’t keep track.

I texted Charles (across the hall), “do you have a command hook?”
“A what?” he replied. So I texted his wife, who went to look.
When she didn’t have one, I went back to my book.

The chapter was about ‘probability distributions as tools for managing uncertainty.’ How topical, here I was, uncertain about when I’d get that command hook. Never mind an indifferent God, science is obviously listening.

It was nearly midnight. I wondered, how late Door-Dash delivered?
Would they bring my hook or were there other services I should consider?
What about Amazon, Target or WalMart—could one of those be a winner?

In the end I had to do without—I gave up at 1am.
The miracle of capitalism had failed me—****.

I could study with the hook off my mind. So, I set an Alexa reminder,
an alarm on my watch and alerts on my iPhone and MacBook finder,
then I wrote a pink post-it note, and put that on my epidemiology binder.

I have a standing, pre-dawn jog with Charles, and an idea forming.
If we passed an open convenience store, I could buy one in the morning!
.
.
Songs for this:
I Want You by Bob Dylan
I need you by Jon Batiste
I can't close my eyes
tears gather.
I can't breathe
the air is stuck.
I can't gulp
my throat is tight.

I try to plant my dream,
but land is
barren

Still, I try.
Even my conscience
mocks me.
It’s that moment when giving up feels easier, everything is against you;
but you can’t, because giving up just isn’t you.
¯\_(ツ)_/¯
My reflection in the mirror taunts me
Who could ever love this?
My friends tell me I'm beautiful
But they are just kind
I see my body in mirror
I know that these are lies

In the photo
They are
Extraordinary
And there I am
With my awkward thumbs up
Hideous

"Too big"
My reflection screams at me
"Like your father"
It shouts

I hate myself even though
I am a person who loves
Loves so strongly
So easily
It's so easy for me to love others
But the mirror
Oh the mirror makes me hate me
Yup
~
Enter the lair

Of a cloudless grenadine

Misty branches of sun

On the outer marker

And in their place

A strawberry moon

~
Why don't they teach little girls
That your first love will stain your soul


Your husband can scrub and yet the history can never be erased

There will always be moments I think of you

They don't teach little girls how first love feels

And they certainly don't teach what it is to be loved, truly and completely

And I'm so grateful I learned.
Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
Dispatches for the Colonial Office

                           Let Us Celebrate No Tyrants Day


                           “We have no king but Caesar!”

               -A long-ago mob as written in St. John 19:15


Even the King of Kings is under the Law
And too, since Magna Carta, our earthly King -
From the people and their voices he can only draw
Such powers as their assemblies vote to bring

But may God protect us from a Common Man
Slithering to supremacy through serpentine speech
Emboldened by the power of cabal, club, and clan
Mobs chanting for their master, a soul-******* leech

God gives us His grace in a King and Queen
Republics give us the guillotine
14 June 20245 - our Stasi handcuffed an 87-year-old man today: https://x.com/CarolinaLumetta/status/1933669206114898254/video/3

The machine (or The Machine) may have replaced a word in Line 8 with a series of censorious asterisks, presuming that I was employing a crudity. The word is "soul-*******," "soul" (presumably "soul" is not a vulgarity?) followed by a common term for negative pressure, "*******," as in a vacuum cleaner.

I strongly disapprove of junior-high ***** language in, well, anything, but certainly in poetry; it suggests that the writer is deficient in vocabulary or is simply trying to be shocking. Yawn. But I also strongly disapprove of prissy persons who find wickedness in commonly used words and in other innocent aspects of life.
Maybe the fall,
Is gravity's call.

At one with the universe,
Floating around amniotic fluid,
Not being coerced.

How
My heart aches,
When the water breaks.

Separation begins,
As does the crying,
The cord has been
Cut.
This is no oedipus complex, but a state of grace.
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