Sanctuary of Cuddle

[hmmnmm]

Interest pokes a head from the hole now and then. Few chin-rubs, consider, step forward, and zip, ducks back in the hole. Try to allow space. Whatever it wants; come out, stay in the hole, I got things to do, it always did have a thing for idleness; guess we share that ground. Last few days it was all the way out, didn't really wander far from the hole, acted like it didn't care I was on the other side of the room. Didn't pester. Just let it nibble and nose. Crawled back in the hole, few minutes later the snoring began. Maybe it smells the lingering odors of others who are in the next room. Maybe neither is sure we want to consume each other. Came close before. Or maybe that's the only answer. Or maybe there are no answers and that should mellow things out if not cause great joy. Then again we share a thing for idleness. We could start there. Idleness. Yum.

 

[hmmnmm]

Not that the difference is too crucial, the idea was simply to start afresh, a revamp of territorial familiarity, being that some circumstances underwent significant shift. Not intending to clog up anything. If preference is for the elder, that's fine and dandy. If this the newer and fresher- either way or neither. Just pecking around.

All that to say: I never thought the day would come that I would wonder if the phrase 'dirty old man' would apply to me. Just what is a dirty old man anyway?

 

[hmmnmm]

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[hmmnmm]

prose-poetry?

it was one of the first explorations when I was but a babe in poetry (and barely a toddler today) and it really felt comfortable, but I didn't know squat 'about poetry' so I think that was part of the tangent that led away from prose poetry. But now I've been looking and thinking and playing again with it, and again, I like the smell, like a place to perhaps call home sweet wordsmithing home. I like it because it feels like something in a frame: and in that frame can be just about anything: a short film, or cartoon or a painting or a photo or try to make something purely textural, and another hundred things I'm not thinking to write just now.

Only hitch I have with it is: what if a decent prose poem paragraph lookalike is made, but then play with lines and see it could work that way too? And if that could work, why bunch it all into a paragraph lookalike? Maybe just because it feels good? But does it feel better? Not getting far on this question.

 

[hmmnmm]

Gonna go simple and use this space to try and find and do and get to where and what I see that I really like to do. And understanding that it will probably not happen eases up lots of stress and helps to relax and enjoy the journey which will certainly be a long one that never will arrive. Doing it here because, well, it just feels good. Or something about the way it looks in this format. Something about the act of putting in and seeing an in-work-progress body of roughly-sketched words in this space. Maybe. Don't really know why. Won't any longer wonder why. Got no idea. Just trying to figure things out though I know they never will be figured. And I'm okay with that. Feels really good. Okay stop.

 

[hmmnmm]

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[hmmnmm]

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[hmmnmm]

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[hmmnmm]

old one I found, kinda like

Airplane and auto
model glue, oh
the smell. A builder
can bend into
construction, and block out
pesky busybodies.

Door and window
somewhat crooked
but they are on,
for the box’s picture
of perfection is
another’s standard;
perpetual trainers; let’s all
spend the day marching
in step, together.

Drop that model
glue too; bad for you,
it is, it was
not intended
for sniffing, for
pleasure,
it was intended
for practical, real world,
usage. The enamel
paints too? Oh yes,
the enamel
paints, too.

Especially the enamel
paint fumes, for if
you ingest through those
nasal passages
those sweet loving fumes
of gasoline,
enamel paints,
yes the thinner
too, and model
building glue, you risk
painting your destroyer
the wrong color.