I’m in the difficult stages of getting-over
straddling lighting and trying to be a good human
If I was as cursed as a dog I’d have an excuse
for not being able to talk properly
my marrows sucked &
I’ve stuck my poetic bones in the oven.
I know I have a leg up on the competition
straddled & hooked around a meaning
I’m using my whole body
to figure this one out.
Come on come on come one inspiration
I can’t just show up to work like this
I am making a book with pages for feathers
The process of getting it together
involves an impossible sort of string like a elf’s beard
I can’t write this poem so I’m going
to braid my hairs.
AT THE HAIR BRAIDING STATION
I’m unable to perform
this right either
Although I am at the brimming part of my thinking
Where I combust at the thought of you.
No poof. No poof.
Most of the dead were young women
Says the radio
Crumpled to death in stamped.