all this


broken waffle irons
subtle jealousies
humbled reverence
three-part harmonies

ice crystals
heartbroke road kill
seed pods that spray when touched
nearly expired licenses
hands held and such

the split seconds of
thinking one’s purpose
is to serve
the split seconds of
gratitude for the
renovated bathroom
the split seconds of
wanting to make a documentary
about some unknown figure in history

the art student’s
conceptual trade show display,
her pink apron;
the iPhones raised

in a life past
she was left to die on the battlefield
—the blast—

of all the nostalgic junk
we eagerly consume
made by nimble-fingered families
in factories
on other planets

frozen then fried bird meat
tubers mashed to paste
and small green spheres
were on their plates

the piano recital
by the young non-music-major
wearing Versace slingbacks
that glittered in stage lights
with each vigorous march upon
the sostenuto pedal

yet another bee-stung-lipped quantum physicist
solves the problem post-coma
the truth finally revealed
after years of gaslighting
pages of computer code
taped to a wall

the split seconds of missing a friend,
toxic as she was;
missing a shirt,
threadbare as it was;
even missing the dated industrial
carpeting in the townhouse
near the Pacific ocean
where we brought our newborn

talking on the phone
to the grandmother long-deceased
in the underworld of the unconscious
where wishes sit
waiting for callbacks

in the meantime,

the ASMRtist,
taps vinyl handbags with lacquered nails
pretends to be a librarian,
caressing spines of books
demonstrates how to use a diffuser
massages a man in a santa suit

and all this as medicine

if conciliation
of the pure force of atoms
agreeing to be light