Baby says I can do anything I set my mind to
so I’ve set my mind to proving her right.
Psychokinesis still eludes me
so I settle for pulling reality’s threads
with fingers obsessed with unraveling.

Peel slowly and see

I tell Baby everything is tangible.
Of course, there are things like rocks,
fresh fruit you impulse buy when you
walk through the produce aisle
(fat strawberries swollen red),
your wife’s balmy skin in the dark after
a bad dream that takes you
all day to shake off.

But there are other things.
Things not seen but perceived
that prowl around us like feral animals.
Circumstance swings above us.
Chance lunges at us amidst distraction.
Context sprawls us tentacular,
multidirectional, whipping us
into confusion.

Baby says I might be taking this too far
but I tell Baby no and that I know the trick
to not getting mauled like other people do.
You grab them by the tail before
they know you’re there.

These are animals of the past,
variables coalescing into wild constructs
waiting to catch you in unguarded moments
but we are animals of the future and we can
grasp from the jungles of unseen time.

I tell Baby there are layers to everything
like a shroud of heavy foliage you strip away
in segments at a time until only reality remains
and the feral animals of assimilated time scatter
in fear of your understanding.

You killed your European son

Baby says I’ve got an interesting mind
so I’ve set my heart on proving her wrong.
It’s all moons up there while the sun
beats and burns in my chest.