my peripheral breakfast

Yesterday I found a butter knife and pried open the window.

Vulnerable, I let a fly in. Then another. Then I raced around the house trying to find the second one

since the first one stopped and flicked at me a sign I've seen on the interstate when someone

refuses to merge. So i'm saying to myself, "your wanting me to smash you but I want to

see you squirm". Outside a storm has gathered. A paroxysm of falsified shelter /

so I looked deep into the eyes of the doomed which were overbrimming with family

structure and emotion. A little child reflected back. A pregnant teenager.

A middle aged woman needing an untrasound.

It was a lyric. A sticky leg incased in hair and populations. His smeared mascara

ghettorized beyond his crease. Yet with a single wing he summoned a song, so not like

anything I had ever witnessed.

I saw Michael Jackson at the BET awards in 03 with James Brown all puffy and polyester

as if he had been soaking in vinegar. Then the other fly soared back from whence

my breakfast sat, with maple syrup and the froth of unscrambled eggs at his breast.

Reviews

[TL Boehm]

and all I'm ever inspired to do when seeing a deer fly is rip off a wing and watch it circle on the surface tension of the water...
This was a brilliant write - all the stream of consciousness coalescing into vivid snapshot poetry and that second fly in the syrup. Yes. Found this to be a wonderful jaunt today.
I'll still be tormenting deer flies but wistfully now - wishing I could draw a bit of inspiration from them.

[h d e rushin]

thank you so much TL for those kind comments.....dana

[M. Shepherd]

Those buzzers are the reason music happened in the first place, that and crackling drum fires, chattering birds and children, the wind through canyon corridors - I feel like this is an ode to the prototypical musician, but as though it were a waterfall pouring into your living room uninvited, like, thank you for every song ever written Mr waterfall but now the rug is ruined for good.

[h d e rushin]

thank you my dear love Marcie for those kind remarks/dana

[Lydia Shutter]

A fly flicking the middle finger at you while you chase it round the house....what an image this is! The fly thinking of his family just before he is smashed by the swatter? Hmmm....do flies have emotions?? Perhaps they do. Whose to say? Your poetry is always filled with incredibly real images....smeared mascara and over bloated celebrities. Dana, your poetry is always worthwhile. Lydi**

[h d e rushin]

thank you my love Lydia for those wonderful remarks my friend....dana

[jacob erin-cilberto]

they have such good peripheral vision...and we have such good vision of reflections of what we have seen before...

the eyes reflect and what you saw in that fly's eye...amazing...and even for a fly there can be some sense of empathy...some sense of understanding that poor fly's plight...

people aren't flies on the wall, they are really important, each and every one, not just the well -to -do...and you have created such a picture of all of this. You are magic with your words.

j.

[h d e rushin]

thank you Jacob for those kind words my friend....

ps: cold today in the Midwest...snow showers and windy....burr! dana

[jacob erin-cilberto]

down here in southern illinois...beautiful...60's this afternoon...was great tennis weather...a bit breezy, but good. sorry you are cold up there.