i keep having ideas for poems
and then leaning away from them
i think i’d like to hibernate
until spring comes
but what if spring
and summer
and early fall
all continue like this—
terrible news
no end to covid in sight
[though people try as they might
to ignore all the facts and findings]
death
and destruction
and feeling hopeless and helpless to stop it
unrelenting
unrelenting
i feel like i need a hibernation
until my next
life
also, did i write better poetry
when i wasn’t so sad
and frustrated
literally
all of the
time?
yesterday i got the shot
yes
that shot
and the other one
and i continued to feel it
feel it
feel it
for so long
i thought discomfort and suffering
had become part of my personality
but as the vaccine reaction faded
and even though i still have a busted rib
and a busted calf for some reason
i’m not nearly as
hopeless
as i was
even earlier
today
meander into my life
and i’ll appreciate you forever/
meander out and i’ll still
talk about you
lovingly
from time to time to time/
force your way in, and i’ll find space
in my heart
for everything you have to say
and everything you represent/
but force your way out
and i’ll never ever ever ever
ever ever forgive you
~~~
the trauma and angst is heavy this morning
and yet it feels brighter
and happier
than mornings have been
lately
~~~
capture the light of life
in poetry
and maybe
life will capture you
and kiss you
and place you back
gently
into the light
oh no
oh no
it turned october
and instead of spooky happy cozy time
i just got
depression
it’s the helplessness that gets to me
not that i feel
un-helped
but how unhelpful i feel to those
i know
are suffering.
keep on writing
keep on finding
what little things are left to find
in this world/state/city/life
and maybe, one day, someone else will want to read what you have to say
communication
through memes
when our own thoughts and feelings
are too
too
too much
the panic had receded
slightly
right around the trip
[maybe it’s because
i was travel-stressed
so i had no room in me
for any other stressors]
[maybe it was just the magic
of a trip
of a visit
to people i love]
whatever it was, i even felt less
the stress
of coming back here — opportunities seemed
gettable
achievable
doable
and i felt like i could march right in
to anywhere
and at least ask for what i want with my life
but now that i’m back
the existential dread has set right back in —
i barely had a day and a half
before i was sad
and panic-ridden
and overwhelmed
and lonely
in this city of millions and millions and millions
and yet i love it here
and it is definitely home
and i ache for it when i leave
how do you do this, nyc?
my heart has been beating
louder
lately,
like it’s trying to remind me that i have anxiety
[as if i ever forgot]
like if it beats harder
it’ll keep away whatever haunts my waking nightmares
[as if that’s ever been true
for anyone
in history]
like my own hand is squeezing every last ounce
of a will to live
to breathe
to be
out of it —
the last reserves
until november
until perhaps genocides themselves die down
but what happens if / when / if
what i hope will be calming
does not come to pass, and instead fate
doubles my heart rate?
will it then cease?
will it then quit?
will it explode like it’s threatened to a million times over
or will it somehow beat louder
harder
faster
faster
faster
faster
faster
faster
kipventures 