where you belong

now im lingering in white noise

small power tool, Bruce is in his shed

sanding guitars

sonic impressions from video game song

in the other room in another timeline

tires on wet snow it is never perfect

outside but we talk about how 

it could be 

a little sunnier 

a siren bathing walls blue 

flicks of cat tail, too

in the window where nothing harms the 

dust

when the song ends, it whistles out

of frame, cartoon tornado-like

and always planes to O'hare rush 

in from the 

wide mouthed lake 

and i collect my senses