Give me a holler, if you’ve got one to share. A poem a mean. Not whatever you were thinking of.
I would like to complain about my work,
But I won’t.
Because they could find me.
And because I’m no longer free to speak my mind.
I’m no longer brave enough to speak my mind.
I’m in the zen state of tired-ness.
When the patterns on quilts become difficult logic puzzles
Requiring all you attention
And the swirls milk makes in the tea
Becomes the most interesting thing in the world.
And I can’t remember my last sentence.
Or if I’m inappropriate.
I want sleep and warm.
I decided after I stopped religion,
I wanted to still be a good person.
So I read some Kant, and a bit of ‘stotle
And I try.
I had to find meaning somewhere with something rather.
But damn, do I miss the simplicity of church.
I don’t like, well, a lot of people.
Women who won’t admit when they’re wrong.
People without senses of humor.
Who are careless with their friends.
Those who expect a certain response
Who punish you when you don’t show it.
And who look a hell of a lot like me.
A woman told me today, you have to be suspicious of people,
You have to be suspicious of people who don’t drink,
And don’t swear.
What kind of place do I live in my head,
Where I can’t stand up and say something,
To something like that?
If it were a joke,
If I were in power,
If I was faster and wittier and smarter and superman.
I should have called it.
What a terrible thing to say.
I talked with my sister a bit about feminism.
Why can’t women get roaring drunk without something being wrong
Why can’t we be confrontational and still delicate
How come we’re not allowed to make a scene
Why do we have to worry about this
What did my mother tell me to make this barrier?
The barrier to not caring about me appearing flowery.
Why do my ducks have to be a row before I’ll call someone on their piggishness?
Maybe we’re just shy north of the Ohio river to get away with it.
I want to tell my friend, out loud, in a public place, with witnesses galore,
That I don’t believe in love and thunderbolts and – I saw her across the rooms,
To tempt fate,
To give me someone to love.
I knocked over a plant with my elbow
Off the windowsill and onto the floor.
And the dirt spilled on the fluffy beige, putzy carpet.
That was two days ago.
I look at the dirt,
I don’t pick it up,
I don’t make plans to pick it up.
I just keep looking at it.