sept 7

house warming present to myself when I moved into this body for the second or third time. becoming disembodied and then returning takes a magician's knack for disappearing borders between real and unreal, when the body flails limp at the prospect of becoming a shade darker and cooler than the summer heat intended. when the young couple suddenly finds themselves adopting a 7 year old cat who bares his fangs if you touch his belly, someone gave him a bad haircut and he is asleep on top of the dresser under the stairs where I laid out a blanket, call it self-discovery but I laid it out, if only, by some sleight of hand, I could find myself a nest to lay down my head, my body of my personality that some gnome secretly spread out in a non-obvious position, some dark alcove in my daily routine which does not exist, but perhaps a likely spot for me to encounter and passerby, a bar or crooked tree that I enjoy to walk in or under, the basement door knocking up dust from all the ghosts trampled there without warning, and a third soul inhabits the dwelling I call mine but then my other me wishes to be surprised into the seat of his personality with the first layer in the way, if this surprise attack of good intention could plummet through my heart as in a bow-arrow attack and I can escape my adoption center tomb of painful separation from past lives and other existences in warm homes with warm food and warm, warm, warm, with the toys and the paperwork.. If someone could lay me out a treat when I transitioned well through moon phases. Like a cat. Yes. A rescued cat.