"Some moments arrive only after they have already left and the stakes are epistemic and ontological can the poem begin?"
- Poet
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upon waking no upon the waking this waking neither first nor last cold floor a warm bulb shivers the alley cat still feral counting its own lives already half made of sound arriving before it arrives casts what your february in its orange persistence cast before the hour of the lamp is standing without you one thought and the thought that will not come something there has sunk its canines into the syllables your syllables syllabub curdled frothing the syllabus your mother birthed you with wet and new red-ink margins not rehearsing them no never rehearsing conducting them slowly as an orchestra pit must when all the musicians have gone home dry and gone and no one answers the downbeat and no one and no one two three four the downbeat has no one left to strike you lift your hand the cat walks out of the sound it made already elsewhere leaving where it will return leaving before it has left
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