-morning problematically-

Settling in to sounds of a man

with his cane
flying fast through the air,
through the space of a room,
and turning the MacBook

on to production,

I couldn’t tell

from her picture

as a Facebook friend

of a Facebook friend of mine

whether Miranda Estevantes 

was in the process of

taking her eye-glasses off

or putting her eye-glasses on.
Frozen in that time where we have
no time to think, now eternal,

in her hand

half-way between her eyes

and the flat bridge of her nose.

The early morning hour brings

the brain’s first steps

climbing from its cerebrospinal gel

like the first fish with legs slithering 

out of the pool of muck,—

mouth half-an-inch from the brim to coffee,

eyes grimacing at the first 
pour of light tumbling

through the southern-faced windows

just beyond the screen
where exists the sidebar
Facebook friend's icy photograph.

I’ve tried my best to live

a peaceful life,—

sometimes simple,

sometimes complex,—

sometimes with too much to remember,

sometimes feeling

like I’m the only one

who gives a shit about it all,

sometimes with the television on.
It's hard enough to focus.

I want Miranda Estevantes

to make up her mind.

But she’s frozen in the space of a square

as a Facebook friend 

of a Facebook friend of mine,

and it haunts me like the sliver

of a splinter's-pinch on the fingertip

incurable but for the space of time,

exacto-blade digs in un-resolved, and

Miranda's cruel square of planet, and me,
mosquito in her slick drop of amber 
and like poor Hattie Carroll who

never done nothin’ to William Zanzinger,

I never done nothin’ to Miranda Estevantes.

                     first poem of 5/12/11 ——

                                              city