Old Habits

I have so many habits

to rupture; so many to

construct—a slippery slope

to drone upon. Swept away, one 

reenters from under the rug—smooth 

by its cover, uneven

in reality. Dark thoughts

come. I didn’t know

what to expect but jumbled love,

since I had taken to searching

for syntax in unlikely places.

A comma takes a vacation—a stop

to identify station—abandoning

its clause and mission to fend

off nonsense, discovering

that punctuation can be

anything it wants to.