lullabye

out of steps for the day, words
all retired, voice quieted, motion stilled,
you are unsleeping.  unproductive
and gulping darkness with unquenchable
eyes, muscles tensed and unable
to relent.  in your whirling

mind’s eye, what moves past
and past again, is the haunting thought
that the sky never ends, and even circling
the continents on foot, you will never outpace
or account for it all.  bursting

with constellations and stifled by clouds
that your lifetime could never count.
stiffened with an electric jolt, you shrink
within yourself.  but smalled as you are,
tiny and ineffective,  remember
the maps.  their pages lapping

against themselves like a heartbeat. ascending
the gridlines with your mind’s fingers, pluck
each latitude so it sings out a tone.  the night
air hums with it.  softened eyelids ease
closed.

a blow to the heart

then I learned
that I was teetering on a knifepoint,
and had been all along.  gravity
was a cloud.  sustenance
only imagined.  been spinning
ever since, what with no walls,
no anchor, what with
no ground beneath my feet.  the danger

of complacency–stones that crumble
in disbelief.  even now,
there are fissures.
watch close,
you may see them ripple,
running the length
of all the way up, all the way
down.  watch even closer,

you will see them fall
apart.

A Sad Tale

she of the Highly Festooned, of the Artful
Kitsch, of the Delicate Irony meets
the Cruel World. Joie-De-Vivre Effacing ensues,
beginning with just a slight Chipping Away
but quickly mounting to a Crushing Deluge.

soon the Je Ne Sais Quoi, the Effervescence,
the Inner Light wanes to Janu-Feb Cloud Cover,

Dejected Wheeze Of Bus Pulling From Curb,
to an open carbonated drink left out Too Long,
and of all the Hurried Masses, none even bother
to notice.

elaboration of feeling off for no reason at all

camber tilted just wrong
singing out a song off key, notes lilting
from sharp to flat, slide
with each step, icy sidewalks
at the point of just frozen, in overconfident
strides accommodating for the slip
but grazing nonetheless. the single wing
out of formation, breaking
the pattern, stray hair out of place,
a deep quiet misstep, broken string,
the woozy moment between sleep
and waking, at the edge of the drop
into quiet unconscious, vision blurring away
with an uncontrolled, thick blink
that lasts too long. hiccup
seeping into a gap, erupting into chasm,
into deep sinking hole. on hold.

Haiku Detailing the Field of Conceptual Futurology

Things will get better
Some other things will get worse
People never change

some lines that aren’t quite ready yet

footsteps sputter, rhythm breaking
down. in this moment, we are caged

in a perpetual struggle to outpace
the landscape as it tries to shift
and surge, inconstant under foot.

gravity tugs us to inevitable
collapse. skin weighted down
by bones. and we expend
ourselves in a lifetime of searching

for the perfect interlock. but doubt erupts
in a shiver, a blooming dread that darkens
what we see, what we do not.

Cover Letter

Dear Sir or Madam,

I am writing to express my mediocre to lackluster interest in the position for which you have undoubtedly received numerous inquiries already. It matters little whether I not I dignify this role with a name, as this cover letter will present approximately the same crap regardless of the qualifications listed.

The main reason why you should prefer my employment over that of any other candidate is that in my already prolonged unemployment, I am reaching the apex of utter desperation. Although desperation comes in many forms, I can assure you that my own distress at not currently maintaining any type of employment far outweighs that of anyone else you may meet. This terminal case is willing to accept even the least desirable of positions with ecstatic glee.

Further, I am currently unleashing upon friends, family, cab drivers, and anyone else who I can corner a flurry of anxiety and gloom over the aforementioned unemployment. In offering me this position, your impact would be multiplied exponentially. The exhaustion, eye-rolling, and visible irritation of my circle could be alleviated quite simply. You, sir or madam, hold that power.

I do not intend to toot my own horn too much here, but I would like to assure you that in hiring me, you would be choosing the most ideal candidate. While this is indeed a lofty claim, there is much evidence to support my assertion. For instance, my experience illustrates just how much stuff I have done. This includes work stuff, busywork stuff, and of course, a plethora of dumb stuff. In fact, I have done so much dumb stuff that I could undoubtedly populate an entire cover letter with these tales.

My skills are also unmatched. As my resume illustrates, for instance, I am an EPA Lead Safety Certified Renovator. The value of this particular skill may not be immediately apparent, but just wait until we see some chipping paint. I have learned how to annoy just about anyone with obnoxious and presumptuous lead safety facts. I am also particularly skilled at untying knots. While I recognize that this prerequisite was not mentioned directly in your position description, I think we can all agree that when faced with a particularly nasty coil in one’s shoelace, necklace, or other string-like object, no one will reject this proffered aid.

Past experience has taught me to be especially skilled at pretending to look busy and as though I am engaging in meaningful work whether or not I am actually on task at all. I can sap away idle hours without bothering anyone for additional obligations in a manner unmatched by my peers. I recognize that you are probably under the impression that your particular organization effectively combats these types of gaping holes in the work day, trust my experience when I assure you that they will inevitably appear. Why not be prepared and choose a candidate who has already factored this unsightly incidence into her daily routine?

Due to these hours of idleness, I have developed a pretty impressive collection of YouTube hilarity. You may not see this as a valuable skill now, but when the inevitable late afternoon black hole strikes, you will be glad to have a team member such as myself who can alleviate the mundane with a priceless internet gem. Further, my supply of hilarity is unlikely to deplete anytime in the foreseeable future as I have created around myself a strong network of fellow YouTube hilarity seekers. These kinds of professional networks necessitate time and energy for building and maintenance, but I assure you I am committed to the challenge.

In conclusion, I think I have made myself abundantly clear when I reassert yet again that it is in your organization’s best interest to issue me this employment. I would be happy to provide personal references who can readily attest to the aforementioned facts, although as they are mostly employed, they will not be as available as myself. Better to just give me a call for an interview so I might have the opportunity to prove myself in person. Look forward to hearing from you soon.

Best regards,

Caitlin

the gum

“Are you chewing the gum?”

“Yes. Have we begun the study?”

“I’ll ask the questions here, Mr. Bird. What do you taste?”

“Umm . . . Minty?”

“Are you asking me or telling me, Mr. Bird? I’ll ask the questions, you give a firm response. That’s how the study works.”

“Okay, it’s definitely minty. Also, kind of metallic.”

“Well what kind of metallic? Aluminum? Iron? Rust? Steel?”

“Yes, I suppose all of those. A little bit like the taste of blood.”

“Good. You taste blood? Any other bodily fluids?”

“Umm . . .”

“What other bodily fluids have you tasted before, Mr. Bird?”

“Hey! What . . . What kind of study is this?”

“Don’t get upset Mr. Bird. They are just questions. It’s my job to make sure your responses are honest.”

“Do you think I’m lying to you?”

“Once again, Mr. Bird, I ask the questions here. Have you ever tasted breast milk, Mr. Bird?”

“What? Well hasn’t everyone?”

“As an adult, Mr. Bird.”

“Jesus! Of course not. Just what kind of gum is this?”

” . . . Mr. Bird, think about your childhood. You grew up in . . . let’s see . . . Missouri?”

“St. Louis.”

“Well, I want you to revisit your childhood. What did Saint Louis taste like? Maybe peanuts at a ballgame, fresh corn on the cob . . . the salty, guilty tastes of your very earliest sexual experiences?”

“God! What? I mean, just what is Trident trying to sell here?”

“Trident gum is next door, Mr. Bird. This is #301, I sell car insurance. Do you need car insurance Mr. Bird?”

Another Dream

Last night, I was visited in my dream by people I knew of in high school. They were uniformly lower on the social hierarchy than I, but in the contemporary, or even future, dream world, they were all successful writers. I read their articles, consistently about inane topics like the difference between certain types of sport coats, or vegetables. And yet, there they were. Published.

I felt my own body, older in the dream than it is now. I wasn’t sure, even at the time, if I was 26 or 30 or even 50. My dream self couldn’t figure it out. All I knew was that I was falling behind.

Then I escaped to a tropical setting, to a warm ocean beside a palm tree lined resort. I was there with friends and we were looking to rent an inner tube, one that looked like a water cracker but seated six. The published authors from the previous dream were still there, on shore, but maybe I was now meant to feel better than they, since my friends in the boat with me were nothing less than cartoon heroes, from comics and anime. One of them was a talking monkey.

Did I feel so inadequate in my first dream that I had to escape to a subsequent dream in which I lived in the company of superheroes? Was this dream sequence any different than in real life when people turn to comics and fantasy media to escape a disappointing life? Or am I just a huge geek for even summoning those latter characters into my subconscious?

All I know is that there is a lot to be done and logging my dreams won’t do it.

A Conversation With Myself

-Am I being who I desire to be?

“No.”

-Why not?

“Because I’m afraid.”

-Of what?

“Failure.”

-Is avoiding failure worth the inevitability of never succeeding?

“No, but I don’t know where to start.”

-Start in the middle. Life is an infinite spiral with no points or angles. As long as you are moving, you are on the right path.