I The Digger

I The Digger

I know I am immature

Yet I know I will find it

In the denied

In the forgotten

In the shamed

In the beaten and browbeaten

A slavishly self imposed prison

In each of you

Everywhere I aim

My special powers see

Telltale signs of

Complication

Making so obvious

Your trigger-prison

In seemingly empty fields

Minute quarks of jailed

Potential dash in and out

Of existence...

You inadvertently show me

Where the hidy-holes wait

All my dogged hunting

Senses dive and dig

My big nostrils notice

One pheromone

My big eyes notice

One cheek tick

My big ears notice

One stifled syllable

All of my own reenergized

Slavish joining dives down

You will not see my maniac digging

Tail wagging with certainty anticipating

The base dirt of your discontent

Flying between my back legs

Yet you may notice that hole

With your vulnerable dirt flying out

And your rising bile

There... I The Digger have

Inevitably found your mood

And my adrenaline addled over-focused mood 
Bites yours 

You Might Find Irony

You Might Find Irony

01-31-17 For Mothers, Sisters and Constance

When you appear to be mourning.

I notice

My never finished sadness

My uncomfortable impulse jerks

To finally fix your mourning

I move huge rocks unnecessarily

In name of your mother and your sisters

I fill infinite wall cracks

To make an unavoidable

Thing-symbol of love

Then

When I am in my senses

My feeling remains sadness

There is nothing for it

But to have it as I move about... until

My fanatical focus simply... inevitably

Moves on

Later I may notice the irony

The rocks will be a feigning garden

The filled cracks will be ephemeral

But if I distract my fantasy

Of fixing you

With risky work

And then

I manage to avoid wounding myself

In my sad little dance

You might find irony in that