itches (in the eye) of the storm

The hot water at ten.
And if it rains, a closed car at four

and isn’t it good

rise and fall
as you like

if
you like

when you must

how easy
to see a whole life

stretching out
that way

languid comfort

not much held
not much
needed

such false comfort

but a breath
easily taken
in the eye
of a storm
is a breath
no less
for the buffeting before

the buffeting after

breathe deep
before the other need
begins

itches
and scratches

and you

~

I’m persevering with my Wasteland project, though without much sense of to what end. This is poem #123 of a likely #306.

The project has taken me to places I had no intention of visiting.

Such is the muse.

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