i’m not getting out what i want to get out
this morning
[but the problem with having
a writing practice
of trying to get things out
in the morning
is that sometimes
you’re only half awake
and half aware
of the things that actually need to be stated/written/gotten
out
so sometimes you just have to write
about the fact that the writing
just isn’t doing it this morning
and hope that makes something come out]
i think
one more poem
i think
one more stream
of the consciousness
of the mind wandering
of the fingers tappity typing
all the way across the screen
one more poem
of waking myself up
the addition
of composition
to my coffee
and hydration
the combination
is what helps me
feel
slightly
more awake
slightly
more alive
slightly more ready
to make this day
one
that i can at least survive
[someday
i may just
thrive]
but today, i just have to aim
for one more poem
at
a
time
puppy snoofs
plant droops
kip shivers
first-appointment jitters
calmed by music and poetry
and coffee
break the habit
and form it back up again
stronger
[or weaker]
than before
hold it together with
dips in time
and days gone by
and a word here and there
tied up with a bow of
intentions
and whatever free time there is to spare
for a curse against
other curses
and mortality
or mundanity
in general
hold it together
hold it together
hold it but not too tightly
for breaking may make
it easier
[or harder]
and you’ll only know
once it
happens
[and sometimes that’s a risk one must make]
[and sometimes
it absolutely
is
not]
i wonder
if i whiled away my morning hours
finding the rhymes
and alliterations with time,
if i’d feel more
connected/
more a part of/
more in line
with my silly morning poems —
if i seriously sat still
thinking of the perfect line
the perfect rhyme
the perfect kind of poem to
express
and impress
and decompress
and perhaps then
i’d force my poems on others
[but, as it stands now, i can only make that happen
for like half to two thirds of a full poem,
and then i let go the pretense, and get back to the words
that just make sense
with my morning brain]
sitting down to write
and not feeling the immediate
“i have to eat”
“i have to use the restroom”
“i have to do anything other than
write right now”
and i don’t know what to do with that
how to use it —
all the possibilities are before me
spread out
mapped and tangled and crumpled from
viewing but disuse
and i simply want to write
something
something
something
to make myself feel
like i’ve used my
one wild and wonderful brain
a poem
to center
not distract
a poem
to wake up
not relax
a poem
to get the brain
the body
the mind
the soul
going
a poem
to bring me into
this world
this day
this moment of time
into
maybe even
myself
a poem.
we are good kips
who do our things
that we set out to do
in the mornings
me with my poetry
kip with their programming
puppies with their naps
and cats with their…whatever cats do in the early hours
will i,
once i get back,
be back into
some semblance
of a morning
habit
with these words?
that would be nice
that would be nice
turn off the brain
turn on the writing
turn on the morning
the focus and the words
that mean nothing
that mean everything
if i don’t think too hard
if i don’t think hard enough
if i simply stop thinking
maybe these poems
may make sense
eventually]
kipventures 