i don’t really know
what
i want to do
what words i want to say
to share
with folks of varying varieties
acts
claps
applause
what is it all
and what is it all for
you know?
~~~
re-reading
old words
completed poems
even some not yet posted
and i think
that’s a great way
to spend
an end-of-year day
today—
don’t you?
~~~
dance around the room
calm the over-excited pup
listen to worded and non-worded music
read words about naps
and contemplate them, too
morning. here.
there are some mornings
you wake up
and are ready for the day;
you start going through the list
of things to do
and you
get excited about he prospect
of accomplishing those tasks
and some mornings you wake up
and you can’t think about anything other than
when your next nap will be,
because you left your true self
somewhere in a dream
and you ned to get back there
in order to bring it with you
into the conscious waking land
(and without that self
you’re pretty much just falling asleep
wherever you stand/sit/stay anyway)
guess which this morning
is
it is
very
hard to concentrate this morning
and i don’t know if it’s from
the stress of last night
or
the vividness of the dreams
or
the sadness of this morning
or
the lack of coffee in my bloodstream
or what
but
it is
very
extremely
extraordinarily
bizarrely
quite
hard to concentrate this morning.
~~~
i feel like i’m getting a better handle
on what makes my poetry
my poetry
(but i really have
absolutely
no idea
still
about what makes any poetry
‘good poetry’)
~~~
i would like to write
another
slam poem;
start a flow
and just go,
balance out the rhythm and rhyme
with internal structure,
alliteration,
and find
the transitions,
the cues,
from one section
to anther,
playing with words
and meaning
and framing
the repeating
as metaphor
as a tool
as a lock to turn the key
and find out something new
about me,
about life,
about our home planet earth,
and our collective strife
to stay alive
when all we want
is eternal sleep
(not necessarily because
death is the answer we’re looking for,
but because all these
isms
and power structures
and so-ingrained made up concepts
keep us so wide awake
that sleep seems a necessity
we never get to get
[when was the last time you had
an actual
honest to goodness
no stress
very good
night’s sleep?]
so i guess
that’s what this poem’s about:
the collective trauma
that is
white supremacy/capitalism/america
and how the one thing
that could give us
the fight
we need
to dismantle it
is the the thing
it keeps us
from doing
every
single
night.
(and are my daytime naps
my making up
for this lack,
or is that just a symptom
of the depression
my awareness
of these systems
gives me?)
((or is that a subject
for another poem
for another day?))
go to bed late
in order to relax at least a little
while awake
(after tough, tough decisions are made)
wake up early
in order to get your spouse
out the door
off to work
(in person)
finish some chores
accomplish some goals
take care of the every-day to-do things
and then
NAP
in order to wake up
cuddled with your dog,
splashed with streaks of sunlight,
rainbows dancing all around the room
floating over your skin,
feeling like this is a Day,
not a trial, a burden, a slog
(and then,
write
it
out.)
so much
to do
so much
to pack
so much
to accomplish
morning
nighttime
it’s the daylight
that holds the time
for dizzyingly good naps.
construction
on the road
right out our window
and the dog is so scared
but so brave
and the cat couldn’t find half a fuck to give
and for me it just reminds me how lucky we are
to be able to afford a garage
inside which we stash our car
and to Kip
it just reminds them
about the last time there was construction
on the road
right out our window
and how they had to carry the dog
a block up and down
in order to get her to our car
in order to get her to the emergency vet
in order for her to act completely fine in front of the vet
and then have her come back again the following day
to be told exactly what Kip expected to be told.
but as for today
i think about tow trucks,
and reversing down roads,
and loud buzzing instead of beeping,
and jackhammers and how the dog will act at lunch when i have to take her out by myself,
and whether or not i’ll be able to/want to nap later today
and when i’ll feel fully rested again
(and how the last time i said that, i feel like i didn’t know what actual, persistent exhaustion was)
and how exhaustion in itself is probably very subjective
and at least we have this playlist
of loud horns
and louder drums
and apparently spotify calls it Nu Funk
but we usually just label it after our favorite bands of the genre
(perhaps the originators of the genre?)
Moon Hooch
and
Too Many Zooz
and i know Too Many Zooz used to perform in subway stations
in NYC
before we lived here
before there was a global pandemic
before
before before
before before before
(is the new labeling of time
going to include BC
Before Covid?
that would make sense
if we did anything to change
the capitalist hellscape
that preceded this global panini
but instead,
we just continued more of the same)
but we are in late-stage capitalism
so maybe we can actualize industrial collapse
and rebuild something kind and caring
from the ashes
of this atrocity
that is the American experiment
that i’d say worked really well for those it was intended for
(white upper/middle class, cis, straight, able-bodied men,
particularly those of monotheistic religious extremes)
and not at all
for literally everyone else.
ah, so this is what it’s like
to contemplate the morning
in Morning Pages Poetry
to follow each thread of thought
until it lets out into a new concept
a new process
a new subject matter to contemplate,
and
i suppose
this *might* be what they mean
when they say
follow the dopamine
?
kipventures 