4247. I MAKE A HABIT

I MAKE A HABIT

I make a habit of ridiculous things : the sherry on

the lamppost, the water in the eye. I notice the

morning before it even comes  -  that grey dog

barking, that light over the very old doorway, the

thistled fog hanging over the graveyard and church.

I go to speak, and I am speechless with a rage  - 

something untouched that I still cannot fathom after

all these years. For those who declaim the world to

be what they see, I shout 'You are wrong!' It is more

 than everything you'd ever imagine; it runs backward

with frolic, has lilt like a song. Don't turn away, I am

 not yet done. I make a habit of ridiculous things,

and you are becoming just one. The man who

 polishes his spit-shine teeth, the one with the green

umbrella  -  I am watching them each, to see what

transpires. I make a habit of ridiculous things.