wax latticework

there’s a
as if a
has vibrated
yet my phone
is in my hand

the story
is flowing
i am tensed
from trying
to maintain
a present tense
where past
tenses unravel
my brain still

the buzz
sounds off
two times

for the
third time
i sift through
the coffee table
cubbies seeking
a phantom phone
i know does
not exist

i try to
tap out some
pithy yet
vacuous prose
but now i sit
past tensed
waiting for
the buzzing

so focused
on this array
of stinging gnats
presently tense
i lose focus
in the chalkdust
lunacy of the
midday moon
pulling my
blood into a
manic frenzy
waiting for the
fucking buzzing

it does not return
and i do not know
whether to be relieved
or concerned as i slip
through fate’s tapestry
sliding through various
states of tension

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