An Angle

There is a caution leaving 

a water mark

along the edge of my thoughts 

and reality. 

Angles. 

They manage us

as we face forward,

unmoving. Perpendicular

vision beams. Step aside,

a glide this way

to return the weave,

the passing through

and over, repeating

what there is

to accomplish. 

I made a jacket the way

I want it to be. 

It fits.

M. Flannery

December 2026

🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲

What Sitting Here Can Do

It goes like this. Scrolling along, I notice no poems have been posted here since last July 2025. I have been depressed. This is what the debris from depression can look like, meaningful things left unattended. They pile up.

So I decide to write a poem right here, right now. 

Drenched in airless thought 

where laces always unravel,

a special heart dance

clears my shoreline of grief

and whatever else has 

accumulated.

The steps are my choice,

not the phantom looming.

A toe cramp waves at me

as I sit in silence.

I imagine it tells me,

We have the nerve to

to move on our own.

Amusing me

is now relegated

to my big toe. 

M. Flannery

15 October 2025

Getting the Drift

skipping around in the sunshine

scrapes sand scratchy beats

against the sole of my memory

the miles we trod,

with the weight

of a brain stuffed with thinking,

leaves only a scrap of laughter

on the bus stop bench

more bass than treble

his voice needs that much

adjustment

tell him yourself

I have skips to count

and preserve 

somehow

without telling myself

old shoes sound better

on swept pavement

M. Flannery

July 2025