Arrays of the Irregular

A pocked, peculiar day –
dotted everywhere with
existential pot holes in arrays
of the irregular. Bright pixels
in the internet would like to blind,
and almost do: perusing pics
too closely on my laptop

screen has caused a neon
scaffolding to bridge across
the theater of my inner eye –
which only lying on my back
and peering up into the gloomy
half-lit afternoon at Henry James’s
claus-y prose can healthfully

anneal (I’ve done so and have
healed); the other sun appears
to nestle relatively safely
thick behind the buffering
of January cloud and ozone layer
and the globe’s magnetic field:
allowing me and you and all

the rest of everyone to wield
more moments in our strange
respective lives. Something strives
to well up in me like the magma
of a nascent quake; the dusk
begins to fade and break –
and waits for me to wake.

.