on nights like this you receive gifts you ask for. storm the heavens with your deepest smallness, put it into the most irrevocable unabashed words. dig deep and jump off the high road. it is not a time to embrace loftiness.

feel small and cry. be brazenly bereft, ask what about me. remember.

i named my disrepair. i looked out the window, down to the night street. watched the pattern of movement in the fuzzy yellow light. i am pissed, i said and angry. i tendered my resignation. as the song goes i quit i give up nothing's good enough for anybody else it seems. on nights like this you receive gifts you ask for.

someone held me close tonight.

what is that like? a warm palm smoothing out the fist that is my heart. i breathe a prayer to the god that watches over me for the gentling of this storm i thank you. for the laugh that ridiculed this quandary with love i thank you. i thank you for the loss that made me ask to be remembered. i thank you for another's memory of me that calls me back to myself.

how small the workmanship that puts us back together. the way a needle is small. the way the hairline cracks are small. the way grandness is too big to do any good. i name my fissures. inconsequential. confused. forgotten. misguided. meaningless. the fine etchings of my heart's capillaries. everyday the heartbeat countdown continues, but tonight,

tonight i asked can i tell you something? can i tell you i feel like crap? okay you said that's tough. and you're not zen. and the line gets choppy everytime i say something true, or more than one sentence. you're so pissed you should go to the bathroom. my heart begins to mend and i tell you what pissed me off. beginning today and working backward. i am not zen.

and i am not imagining things. and that is alright.