i feel like i’m a the tail end of my creative flow
and i know
that’s not how it goes
it’s a well that never runs dry
but sometimes
the rain droughts or floods
and circumstances can dictate
more states
that i’d like
but, like,
why can’t i at least have some sort of
steady flow,
trickle,
a tickle
in my brain
would be better
than this blankness
that fills my mind
like a void
negating every possible
creative
thought
and turning it
to
stone
cold
static
over
and over
and over
again…
January 14, 2022
most other years
i struggle a bit with writing
the old year vs. the new
but typing i’ve always gotten used to it
just a wee bit faster
(indeed, last year, i could not WAIT
to add that tiny line
that indicated
the entire year of March
was finally done)
but i’ve gone multiple days
(near half a month)
this year
and keep forgetting to switch
that 1 to a 2
and…
is that some sort of omen???
January 13, 2022
i’m so nervous
about today
a new circus place
another chance to move my body
(how does my body move now?
now that i’ve had months and months off from any apparatus,
now that i’ve had over a year away from consistent, daily training,
now that the virus has changed every thing we do
now that the virus has not infected me, but the fear of humanity
constantly
doing wrong
that has infected me,
and i have symptoms daily:
a brain fog of unknowns of who may be smart
and who may be stupid,
tightness in the chest from seeing
that some
would rather sacrifice
[eugenicize]
the weak/old/disabled
as if they’re barely even numbers
(instead of whole human people),
the headache of suspicion that
there is a way to do this correctly
and our country/community/society
just
hasn’t,
the nausea
from knowing
that those in charge
worship money
before any worker
and that they think of people as pawns
to gather them more hoards of money
than they can do anything with in one lifetime,
and, of course, the whole body aches
of observing
the elected officials
i helped put into office
not being held accountable,
i want to hold them accountable,
but they aren’t even listening to those
more outspoken
more knowledgable
more persuasive in their passions
than i’ll ever be
so i’m left
with this
covid despair
this pandemic of existentialism
this disease of caring so much
that you circle all the way around
and start to care
not at all)
(but you do,
you know you do,
you’ve just numbed
the symptoms,
the disease is still
there.)
January 12, 2022
{unknown}
what i want to write
{unknown}
what i want with my life
{unknown}
what decision to make from
a life
rife
with greatness
and gloom,
elation
and existential dread…
speak what my mind
wanders to wonder
about day to day,
week to week,
(second to second,
why am i always second in my actions
but the only thing on my mind?)
{experiment
unknown
until
something makes sense}
January 11, 2022
every step
i take
outside
in the
wind-chill-at-1-degree-fahrenheit
air
i say to myself
‘this sucks,
but it’s not as bad as Wisconsin’
‘i hate this
but it’s not as bad as Wisconsin’
‘i’m cold
but this isn’t nearly as bad
as Wisconsin’
we might have sub-zero winds
today
but at least we don’t have
starting-at-negative-twenty-with-wind-chills-down-to-negative-fifty
don’t-stay-outside-longer-than-five-minutes-or-your-retinas-will-freeze
snowing-so-hard-you-have-to-shovel-the-driveway-four-times-in-five-hours-to-keep-up
weather…
this sucks,
i hate this,
i’m so damn cold,
but at least i’m not out in the air of Wisconsin.
January 10, 2022
rainbows
bounce
against the walls
from the double prism
in the window
and i watch the cat
as she gets
overwhelmed
with all she could chase
and i feel like i’m
her brain
catatonic
with too many
choices.
January 9, 2022
to delve back into
a former
self
i suppose i should use
and utilize
what i’m most afraid
of:
music being my strongest sense memory
i realize
that half the time
it is simply a chord or sustained note
that reminds me of a certain time
or place
or thought
or memory
but i also know certain songs
that hold those memories captive
like iron bubbles
i can see through
but they’re blurry
and i can’t seem to penetrate
unless i go fully inside
the song
so
i think i should
but i also think
i should do it
meditatively
with parameters
to hold the memories
and songs
in high esteem
treat them with reverence
and not abuse this power i’ve been granted
(nor rely on it too much
because i’m making new memories every day)
and what are the chances
that a song i listened to
a ton
in 2007/2008/2009
would show up through a randomizer in a little green app
[the visual memories aren’t yet here,
but boy is the emotional kerfuffle
strong
with this song…]
(what a ride that was)
January 8, 2022
too tired to write anything
of substance
too word-play-y
to not,
stuck in a limbo
of will i won’t i
(a new take on ‘will they won’t they’)
(get it, cuz i’m nonbinary and use they/them pronouns)
listening to music from the
‘Roaring 20’s’
so what are we?
‘The Coughing 20’s’?
‘The Dying 20’s’?
‘The Denying and Closing our Eyes and Covering our Ears and Screaming “[B]LA[B]LA[B]LA”
Over All the Signs
and Words of Learned Folks
and Science
20’s’?
i wish i had the compassion of
Amanda Gorman
the faith in people of
Anne Frank
the calmness and knowledge and belief
of so many
but i am caught between
i want to see the good
and
i can only see the bad
played
over
and
over
and
over
again
behind my eyelids
every time they close
(and most of the time while they’re open,
too)
i know i’m doing little
to halt/hold/stop the division
of one side
‘gainst the other,
but it’s hard to listen to folks
who’d never listen to me
were i to show them my true self,
who argue that folks like me
are a disease unto society
and deserve the worst of death.
if you can’t look at me like a human
then why should i listen to you
like your opinions have any say
in my living my own life
in my own honest way
(maybe this is why
it’s so important
to look inwards
for spirituality
as opposed to outwards)
but this poem
is kind of a mess,
but it is morning
so i can mull through
my thoughts of the day approaching
and get them all out of my fingertips
and onto this blank page/document/screen
for all to see
(or at least the six of you who usually read)
(hi, by the way)
and the poem doesn’t ~need~ to mean anything
it can just be,
a product of my brain,
my overthinking-
obsessive compulsive tendency-
pessimist in the body of an optimist-
-brain,
and leave it
for whomever may need it
(which might just be me
needing to get it out
in order to write
other things)
January 7, 2022
having been burned by
the National Weather Service
and over-preparedness
in the past,
the Kips opted
to ignore the
winter weather advisory
for their area
and sleep comfortably in a home
with
no shovel
and
no rock salt
and woke to some of the
pack-y-est snow they’ve seen
in NYC
thus far.
but all is not lost,
for these two new(ish) homeowners,
for they had opted for a push-broom
to rid their driveway of autumnal leaves
and that seemed to work fine
(for now)
for the little piece of sidewalk
and tiny driveway
that they have
and perhaps,
if it does continue to snow
(as the weather app says)
they will brave the icy streets
(which hold no fear in the driving Kip,
having spent six years in Wisconsin
driving multiple times a day)
to pick up
a brand new snow shovel
and a bucket of (pet safe) salt.
but for now:
coffee,
bagels,
and enjoying this wonderland view.
January 6, 2022
feet:
hurt.
big poem:
unfinished.
nap time?
nap time.
~~~
i hope that’s
[a cheeky]
enough poem
for today.
~~~
but
just in
case
here’s a
trio
to hold
any
expectations
aloft
[or
something
like that]
kipventures 