be
the cryptid
you wish
to see
in the world
~~~
is my poetry
like everything else about me,
where it flows better
when i stop thinking about it?
~~~
didn’t write anything yesterday
almost not writing anything today
i was about to ask where my passion went
but it’s right here in me;
i was just reading, re-reading, going over old words
to bring to new light
and that’s what i always expected,
right?
our hassle
of a cat
is diligently working away
at helping us get rid of stuff
(i just wish she’d indicate with something
other than her own pee)
Mowgli
(the cat)
purrs
and sniffs
at once
and in order to accomplish this
she must open her mouth
so her purrs
become tiny demon noises
and i love them so much.
ever get lost in a dream
so much so
that when you wake up
you’re only half aware of the world around you
and half trying to remember what in the world your subconscious did to you the night before?
no reason,
just asking…
walking with the dog
is more like
stopping and starting and stopping with the dog
switching around apps
to write these morning poems
everything in flux
everything about to happen
and yet
(and yet)
there are still so many mundane days to have
before the just before
if you are
barely over
five feet tall
and your short-legged stride
outpaces
all the New Yorkers around you
you may have a problem
however
if you are
barely over
five feet tall
and gay
and your short-legged stride
outpaces
all the New Yorkers around you
that’s just fine.
decisions
preparing
discussions
excitement?
maybe?
~~~
all these silly
vague
hints
peek into my world
but don’t see
fully
~~~
do i write today?
do i post today?
do i wait today?
who knows?
(certainly not i)
am i so tired now
because my teen days
were 21 hours of manic waking
followed by three night-hours of insomnia?
[or is this still the insomnia,
just a whole new flavor?]
an upset belly,
late bagels,
just talking,
not really writing,
animal croodling,
spouse connecting,
“concept”
kind of morning.
kipventures 