before the pick up sticks fall
into their pick up locations,
is there a hand in the way
     they gently fall
     like Icarus rain
     falls sun hail
   words from an unstopped mouth
unchecked unchecked

or

is there a subroutine?

tonight I chose to stay
          with the cat
     at Mary's place
sleep with foreign smells     a cat
who slumbers in a jumble
     of fur and fitfulness
          looks up occasionally
     breathes shallow breaths
   his look says all about
     the unnatural  ness
   of waking up and suddenly
           writing

instead there's conversation
     quiet time
          a party of
     those I once envied
     who now struggle as I do
of what use a
   3 part mirror at an age
   when the best reflections
come early in a work bound
     morning?   better still
        walking through the bus
     tunnel     thinking of escape
   the third part at lunchtime
     squeezing out delicate drops
        of time at a keyboard
     when no one interrupts
          the shimmering flow