it’s late on a friday and i slump barefoot on a couch that isn’t mine
picking at dead skin on the bottoms of my feet, red & raw from the dress shoes
i wore to a wedding (which also wasn’t mine–
but where i arrived late & had stopped only to dance one slow, slow dance.)
it’s nearly quitting time on a friday; i’m looking out a window which
belongs to someone else but i’ve opened the shades halfway and they rest,
crooked, on a curtainless sill.
someone’s thrown a rock, and the glass is cracked in one of the center panes. i don’t
wonder at this, but i guess at what the window-owner did to deserve it.
i’m dreaming of home on a friday and my fingers as they type this don’t smell like my own,
as if they knew i were pecking out a destiny which i surely didn’t sign up for.
strangely, the smell is of mice: caged, fed and raised for breeding. i do wonder
what that means.
as the title suggests, this piece is a revised version of a much earlier piece, which i re-discovered recently and was consequently re-enchanted by. the original can be found here. interesting how our writing changes with time, no?
the tenth muse 
This has a surreal, dreamlike quality – which I like. Read the earlier version too – this one’s an improvement – it’s tighter and more abstract.
Oddly beautiful.
And I never stopped to ponder what mice smell like. Enchanting indeed. – Mosk
ouch…love the conversational casual tone in this…that is exactly how i hear it read…caged mice…built for breading…all the specifics of it being someone else’s house, couch etc are little touches that add to it…
i will say, you were picking your feet, which is where the finger smell might have come from…well i know they would with mine…smiles…i will not be smelling mine though to confirm for you…grins
i like both.
Mousefinger! See your doctor…
Enjoyed this, and thanks as always for sharing your work out here –
Peter G
This leaves wanting to know more… Of before this moment and after. Really drawn in by the tone mood of it. Seems very, very familiar
fascinating…like standing next to your self and writing about feelings that you feel like through a glass pane…reflecting from another part of you…the fingers smelling of caged mice adds another dimension and even underlined the feeling of surrealism…much enjoyed
Really like this!
Nice expression of a rat race where we don’t belong to ourselves. loved that sense of recursion you created.
Love this…so cool….my fingers as they type this don’t smell like my own,
as if they knew i were pecking out a destiny which i surely didn’t sign up for-excellent!
I loved this. A smooth flow through a disjointed mind. I’m not sure about the last phrase, “I do wonder what that means,” because I think the wonderment is already implied. Nice piece!
Very much like what you’ve done here.. wonderful spaces inviting all kinds of speculation upon what is left unspoken or unrecorded. I’m still wondering about that one, slow, slow dance….
conversational, yes. i think that’s why i like it. i don’t normally think about poetry, but there ya go.