sink deep into the couch
close your eyes while you write
and maybe, just maybe,
something beautiful will come to you
something beautiful will osmosis into you
something beautiful will meditate into your mind
from the outside
and make its way through
closed eyes
and open fingertips
to the keys on your keyboard
and, magically, digitally, technologically
appear on your [now no longer blank] computer screen
that’s how poetry works, right?
hold on to what you know
let go of what confuses you
but don’t
don’t
don’t destroy
that which you don’t understand
[then you
become the
villain]
[and i hope
you don’t want
that]
perfectionism kills
it kills creativity
it kills enthusiasm
it kills hope
and it kills souls
[if only my own words had any impact
on the chemicals in my brain that scream
‘that is true for everyone BUT you —
you are the one person for whom
perfectionism matters
MORE, it is
LIFE
OR
DEATH
and you MUST BE PERFECT
to survive…’]
we celebrated
ten years
and then we celebrated
thirteen and then we celebrated
just being married and boring together
and i love our life here
with ups and downs
and stresses and calm moments
and so many sillies —
my kip is my home
and my home is my kip
and we are kips together
on the same team
[la même équipe]
and we always will be
with love
ten years
it feels too long
and not long enough
like we just got married this morning
but also we’ve been wedded for a hundred thousand years
i know you so well
and
i’m learning you every day
and i love this adventure we’ve got going
and just started
and i cannot
cannot
cannot wait
for tomorrow
and the next ten
or ten million
years by your side
peacocks strut their stuff
opening a fan of flamboyance for
everyone’s eyes
(i often wonder if they know how fabulous they are, and if
the male peacocks actually open their tails for the purpose of finding
a mate, or if it’s a little bit egoistic and showing off for the purposes of showing off
for showing off’s sake)
this puppy
obsessed with this cheese bone
she’ll never forget
that it sits on the window sill
waiting for her
taunting her
with it’s strong smell
and stronger memories
of hours spent
gnawing
and licking
and chomping
and obsessing
why oh why can’t her humans see
just how much she
deserves
her cheese bone
back
she whines
she barks
she sighs
we do not give it back
i don’t remember
a lot
my brain is a sieve where
each experience passes
lovingly
but without mercy
and sometimes big chunks do get stuck
and they are the memories i get stuck on
and replay over
and over
and over
without mercy
to my own psyche
but others show up when reminded
[thank goodness for that little brain trick]
by an object or a person
telling the same story from their perspective
and in those moments
it’s like a magic trick — the memory bursts forth
like a trick bouquet of flowers
from a magician’s shirtsleeves
and i am thrown backwards
winded from my own remembering
and hopeful this time
this time
[maybe]
that memory will be
saved
from the sieve
it’s always
so interesting
when the poems i start to write
are not
the poems that end up
written
too tired
to write
too tired
to move
too tired
to sleep
but maybe
just maybe
just tired enough
to dream
kipventures 