It's Still Life

Between Here and Shortly Before Noon

It’s still September. Sun rises at 7AM.
Pivots on papier-mâché light. Life is

A car racing by, too fast for this lane.
My bones wake me, not black-beak crows.

The backdoor opens. Closes. An exit.
Into the garden. The future flies. Maybe

A loaf of bread and a newspaper. Milk.
We need milk. Need a cloak of clouds.

Fallen leaves scutter across the patio.
I fell like a failed debate yesterday.

I’m on the cusp of tragedy. Or comedy.
I was horizontal. Flat. Like the moon.

for Miz Quickly’s final prompt … a poem inspired by a title. My aim is an abstract piece of work. Like a Calder. Or Pollack. Or words of smoke. Inspired by a poem title “Not Ideas About the Thing but the Thing Itself” by Wallace Stevens. image is from unSplash CO:00