with a capital "troub."

someday we'll be lions
fur matted with the proof of
activity and struggle.
caked with blood and mud
and effort - regardless of success
or failure.


someday i will wake up
shake my mane free
of the settling in darkness,
rise to prowl
the lines between sun and grass,
the sweet stagnant oven of 
savanna, and stretch...
prepare for instinct
and the sharp blows of hunger.


i will thirst and crave
hunt devour
and in the light pad of my treads
and the roll of my shoulderblades


you will prey. 


my toes are poking out from the bubbles. i always have to stick my feet out. in bed, in the bath, in the car...

is there a biological reason for it, do you think? some primeval need to see my feet so i know i'll be able to run, if i have to? i wonder these things.

i forgot to do my morning music tarot shuffle reading for the week. it turned out to be my monday evening music tarot shuffle instead.

i was distracted, it's a valid excuse.

as valid as excuses can be, i suppose.

besides, god knows i was desperate for some distraction. i seem to be quite adept at finding it in all the places i least expect, though.

oh, the delicate dance of untangling and trying to straighten the knots that i seem to be so incapable of learning to do.

will i always be this knotty mess?

i hope not. but we all know i'll be the last to ask for some help untying.

do you ever tire of the frantic pace of a leapfrog heart? i do. i just want the game to be over. to collapse into the shade and feel my toes in long, cool grass.

my knees are getting weak
i don't want to take that leap
but i could grab
those shoulders,
get my legs in the air
and end up
over your head and
too far ahead...

and i'm still talking about leapfrog, right? right. it was a good metaphor.

i liked where it went.

i blame the cinnamon.

and the bubbles. mmm.... bubbles.