the last
few weeks
we’ve gotten so little sleep
at night,

what with parties happening
two doors down,
or our dog
trying to lick away her own skin,
or the cat
being…a cat;

sleep has been
interrupted
at best
and non-existent
at worst

but last night
we may have slept through the night?
(or at least, had 3 or less wake-ups,
instead of our usual
10+)
and i feel
p rested
and my body
(and brain)
have no idea
how
to feel
[emotionally]
about that.

~~~

i wonder if i’ll ever feel
like
my poetry has a direction
a perspective
a purpose
a reason to keep writing and writing
other than my own
obsession
with
what the hell this life/world/brain is

but for now
i’ll just keep
writing
and writing
and writing and writing and writing
my damn-near gibberish-ness
and hope it sparks
*something*
in someone
in time.

~~

question
everything
answer
nothing
preserve
some things
and continue
on