Ramble: Ninths

broken brittle bits branching
counter top and floor

swift silent surface sweeping
cleaning out this mess

endless cycle of pretending chaos
might be tamed into order

dish washer
    laundry machine
          vacuum cleaner
humming weekend jazz and blues

Monday is waiting. 

Ramble: Thirds

I am piling shredded
Christmas paper on the curb
when my cell rings.

We are no longer lovers;
and yet you call - as always.
predictable as January snows
whispering of ennui
and Boxing week sales.

Your voice enticing me to come.

'It'll be fun', broken words
garbled promise over
hands-free bluetooth
when your car glides to my curb
silent electric full stop.

Who am I to argue with
faux leather heated seats
and your presumption that I
would acquiesce – as always.

You take me to 'The Bay'
seeking new linens.
Leave me lingering 
between terrycloth towels
and flannel sheets.

Make me watch as you 
fondle, finger, and caress
Egyptian cotton in floral patterns
summoning memories of fertile fields
wrapped in summer heat.

My arms burdened beneath
fresh virgin bedroom sheets,
you take me to the check-out counter
-	'All Sales Final.'

Then whisk me back to my curb
just as the garbage truck rumbles slowly past

As always.

Ramble: Seconds

Primary numbers
sequentially accumulating
beneath fractal snow falls

There are no patterns
in these drifting swirls
piling high around my feet

I am not a primary number
or elsewise otherwise defined

I am the remains
of an unclaimed archaeology
lost in primordial forests

Here amongst innumerable trees
branches reach toward infinity
waving at the sole hidden sun

Sedentary sedimentary erratics
scattered over eskers and drumlins
deep in isolated thought

Here too remain I reclined
amongst boulders bigger than I.

Out of the wind finding a second breath.