aliens, border, cars, children, dream, fingerpaints, fishing, Hoya, justice, life, music, ocean, peace, potted plant, questions, rain, son, sunrise, Universe, writing
I wake up at 0400, I don’t know why.
My Hoya plant climbs and changes direction all day, pushing out leaves that start out maroon then turn green, looking for something cling to, I guess, but I don’t know how. They don’t care why.
Somebody’s gorgeous, imperfect black Mercedes 350 D sits in the parking lot, and I don’t know who it belongs to. Should I do penance for coveting?
I had a dream and you were in it and I was awful to you. Should I apologize?
My son shivers under a pile of covers every few weeks and nobody knows how to fix him. When will we find the answer?
Who will tend our nerves and muscle, spine and hips, and tell them stand down, the money has come, go and get well, healthcare has come?
What does an unaching body feel like?
Where does music come from?
Why are those finger-sized fishes jumping out of the bay into the air?
Where did my pouch of flash drives go?
What will my next best writing look like, and who will tell me “Yes, we want this.”
Are you the one tapping on my window at night when it rains, sounding like somebody is dropping berries onto my windowsill from the roof in the middle of the night?
Who’s going to put all this stuff away, and wash laundry, and take the garbage out, and pay bills, and wash the car?
Does anyone else hate the fact that Greenie’s is gone and wonder what will replace that beach bar that the mayor said yeah that was nice but it’s time to move on?
How many children are still without their parents at the border and will they ever see them again?
Peace in our time?
Are aliens shunning us?
Who made the first fishing net?
I dunno. It’s all just Universe painting, I guess. Meanwhile….who can think with all this going on…