in my system
to say something is ‘in my system’ makes me bilious like being grown in your hard cough. our body parts become animals separating into the forest. they begin the food chain and now i am in your system. for a short time, we are energy interconsumed. as the frenzy fades, i dig a cave for hibernation.
there is a song that cries help and it comes from all the blue jays. the blue jays are your shoulder bones and the blue jays are in your system.
the hen in you hatches an egg and the egg is filled with bird feed. we try to come together in spring on a park bench, but predation is circling outside the birdcage. the pack of creatures that comprises you is dwindling. my creature pack cuts off your food supply, feeds on your shin muscles which are blue jays. i try to tell you that it’s only going to be in my system for a little while longer.
the hen and us take a walk. you make a joke with the hen about watching Animal Planet drunk together on sunday. i see that the hen has been with you the whole time, your own feast and feeder. over padded steps, i take it all into my system. habit-vice-diet.
in your system
your system is the cupped hand of a clock shuttling kindness like sugar grain, spilling evenly on the minutes. our emotions become circles and gear teeth. your voice is the battery. when your stress reaches me, i feel like the space between your system’s molars, the air under the teeth that falls under shadow every three sixty degrees. the heavier my given time, the closer the gear shifts and carries me further.
in the system
when i point to the blue jay epidemic in the system, all heads turn. they are all our attention draws. their song is saddest when we think we’re the only ones listening.
mar20 – brennan mcmullen