Kip making music
on an OP-1
on top of a wooden table
with metal bars
supporting
running across to where i rest my foot,
and even through my thick bootie
i can feel the bass rumble through
into my bones
and i love it
Kip making music
on an OP-1
on top of a wooden table
with metal bars
supporting
running across to where i rest my foot,
and even through my thick bootie
i can feel the bass rumble through
into my bones
and i love it
still throws me
that hypocrisy
doesn’t affect the gop
like
at
all
the plight of the whistleblower
is to have enough morality
that you step forward,
but to have enough tactical planning
to get yourself in the space to have the evidence
first
i wish
i wish i
wish i could be
that tactical
[or that close to valuable info]
but the moment i feel uncomfortable
morally
i either shout it out to/from the rooftops
or speed away in the opposite direction
[one of many reasons i’m never privy to any sensitive information]
i suppose i’m trying to convey that
i’m proud of anyone who can stay in a situation,
gathering,
without losing themselves
whistleblowers, you have my great respect
now if only your evidence counted for anything
in this clownshow of a government
children
and philosophers
wonder at the wonder of the world
children
and writers
imagine all the what-ifs
children
and actors
inhabit others’ stories
children
and tinkerers
mess around with physical objects
to see what can be done
i don’t think that it is only one kind of person
or profession that
keeps the “play” alive
from childhood
the key is simply to find a way
to keep your own childhood loves
going and going and going
so you never
lose them
sometimes
you need to write the words
“you can do it!”
at the end of your to-do list
both as a thing to cross off
and at the end, just ‘cause
because
you
CAN
do it!
gross
gross
the snow falling
in april
as i’m trying to believe
with all my might
that it might be
spring
grey skies and
drip drops on window panes and
the perfect day to nap your stress away
and
the perfect evening to be lulled into deep deep sleep
~~~
evening pages
much much later than normal poetry time
[am i just doing this
to say that i did it?]
[isn’t that all life is anyway?]
~~~
i think
three
poems is enough poems
for such a late late night
poem-writing-time
time passing
too swiftly
to get me
pumped
about any one event or even one day
i need now to look forward to
a weekend
a whole month
a big big change in scenery
[but the tiniest/
eensy weensiest/
minutest little things
still bring my whole mood
down
down
down
so what’s that about?]
as humans
we
contiain multitudes
and math jazz does, too
finish up these pages
so the bagel can be eaten
so the laundry can be started
so the nap can be taken
so the cat meds can be obtained
so the lyra can be flown on
so the massage can be gotten
and so i can come back home
and be lonely
but not alone
[because these sweet animals
are my greatest buddies
besides my spouse]