maybe
it would help
if i were to write poetry
by hand
again
[would it really, tho?]
maybe
it would help
if i were to write poetry
by hand
again
[would it really, tho?]
i work so much better when i have a project
than when i’m left to my own devices
i can’t escape feeling
like i have something i should be doing
but i can’t get off my ass to try, either.
is this a time so say i
love sitting just in the outside
sun shining down but shade keeping up
and puppies beside me continuing to pup
stress
and apprehension
and it not feeling like
an actual opening
and the stories we tell ourselves
about ourselves
when i tell myself these stories
it’s to try to solidify
who i am
because i have no idea
i have no plan
~~~
does one good line
make a poem?
is this my style/my curse?
~~~
my poems are making little to no sense to me
this morning
but i’m still writing them
i’m still dilligently typing
words and phrases as they come
hoping to find some meaning
some
time
soon
why does funk
just make your body move
and playing bass guitar
make you do that head thing
with that face
universal things
i had no idea
were universal
until i did them, too
maybe make words
make pictures in the margins
of all our psyches and show them off to
whoever is willing to read
them to see them
ponderings in a morning
filled with things and contemplations
and many many many words
and here inside my bubble i’m safe
i’m safe i’m safe
and being grateful isn’t being boastful
[i have to remind myself of that
many days/most days/every day]
dog calming music
to calm both kips
because we are as predictable
[and as good]
as dogs
skip days of writing
write while others are speaking
maybe the focus isn’t what i need,
but the divided attention,
to complete my goals
with creativity
if only i ever found a time
when i thought my mind was organized
but as it stands
and as it be
the organization of my mind is cacophony