what am I doing? who’s out there? where’s my stuff?

I’m moving closer to instinct;

closer to the insect; closer to the snake.

I’m moving closer to Uncle Octavio  

who puts his keys in the icebox.

at the drugstore

we find him walking through the aisle

of body fragrances suited for younger men;

men who want to smell like pine-scented cutouts

hanging from the dashboard. men still on the hunt.

Octavio's heading in the other direction.

he's smaller, but his mind says he's bigger.

when your brain is wrong your sense of direction

is wrong, and lopsided equilibrium is clearly defined. 

as for me? I’m doing well under the circumstances.

this morning I opened the icebox to retrieve

Uncle Octavio's keys, but they were someplace else.

In my opinion that’s a good start to the day ahead

for both of us.