other animals

Once you’re reasonably seasoned
I want to complain about my
hands and the where and what that they
have failed to do no matter which
precipice certain delicate

papers have been balanced upon
today which way they flail is of no
grey matter for any of us
as the storm threatens from each point of

the compass rescued from the bright
dust at the bottom of a mound
of sticky surreal boxes

on the outskirts of a
once-distinguished suburb