May 26. 2017: I Am Too
Friends asked
what’s wrong with me
And I said
“too much to say”
And it is, it’s always
too much or
too little
Saying too much
Silent too much
Caring too much
Knowing too much
Too cynical about “people”
Too naive about people
I can’t stand on a razor’s edge
And cut myself to stay in
between a buzzing brain
and an empty bottle
One or another will have
to do somehow until
I can put one inside
the other
and lock them up
for good
April 7. 2017: Dream 10
A large centipede, shot brown, and writing.
I dances across the floor and flips,
getting stuck, its legs longing for sweet earth.
A man knocks it aside, a woman chastises the man.
“It doesn’t deserve that. Sweet thing.”
I am watching and uninvolved.
Kept apart by queasy uncertainty,
a churn in the gut.
Who will catch it?
For more recent poems check out my recent book All the Mediocre Tidbits of Life, or my older collection Fleshpot & Honeysuckle
Pen and Screen 