Household Goods
Had the sudden urge tonight
after napping
to shift things around
dust off surfaces
return spring curio
to the cabinet
clear the air
choose items to let go
while praying to
hold on to this household
Had the sudden urge tonight
after napping
to shift things around
dust off surfaces
return spring curio
to the cabinet
clear the air
choose items to let go
while praying to
hold on to this household
What if
We just pretend
For a day
There is no time
No to-do list
Hit the road
Windows down
Radio all the way up
Wind in full force
Through our hair
Feel the pulse
90’s rock blaring
Sending a tingling
from my spine
to the tips of my fingers
One hand hanging
Out the window
Slide the other
Into yours
Fitting perfectly
Get lost in the sauce
Our horizon
Another town
A few states ahead somewhere
Is an iced down
Superior champagne
Waiting for us
At dusk
Everything
I wish for
And more
Two clanks
Cheers
To us
I hate humanity today
& by that I mean, the inhumanity on
rampant, unending display. Everyone –
*everyone* you know
is a medical time-bomb ticking, some of us
exploded from the moment of birth. This
should not ever
demean our value, but armchair eugenicists
bold or sly speak otherwise. I am
a knot of rage today; solar plexus become
molten roiling core. The only thing
still holding this body together
is a web of self-preserving fear.
This is exhausting.
I am exhausted.
As in emptied
devoid
spent
rent
raw
no
I
want the multitudes in me to drive for a while
steer this smoking wreck of a life-raft
grant me something, *anything* like serenity behind
eyes that have seen too much *much* while
the harbours of far off lands call like Sirens
sweet-singing ‘come, come… come’ but
there is no seawall high enough
to ward this storm.
We are in it;
and will continue to be
until we aren’t.
no matter how good
things are going
there’s always that
empty familar
burn and sting
that makes you jealous
of the excitement
those around you
are feeling
there’s no cure
or a way to explain
how much you hate
yourself for feeling
like you’re trapped
in a slow motion movie
where it’s hard to breathe
during every second
you’re laughing
with those that you
love
more than anything
because that door
that they’re one day
going to open
to a one way trip
is waiting
there’s no real answer
to mend that thing
curled around the lungs
spiralling with the nervous system
blooming around the skull
trying to break in
from stranger to stranger
I love you
no matter what happens
the time of day
months or years
from this point
come find me
before you do
what you knew
you were going to do
for a very long time
they can tell you
the things they think
you want to hear
I promise you
I’ll try my best
to keep you
safe
my hands, my friend
have been on handle
with the world screaming
as a barbed monster
dressed up in sunshine
laughter
summer
hope
love
but I’ve found my way
to this moment
to you
whomever you are
that silent soul
filled with so much
I’ll keep things shut
for as long as you need
you
are
not
alone
Dreamed of a long path
lined with tall trees that
created a luxurious green
canopy, the shade beneath
cool and inviting.
Someday I will find my
patch of quiet forested ground
and then I can wake up.
KW
6/21/2022
A preacher boards a train going somewhere, killing two stones with one bird.
the poet says
gotta make that paper
rhythm and verses
disperse the grind but don’t taper
gotta make that paper
gotta control the pen
disperse the grind but don’t taper
tomorrow begin again
gotta control the pen
often it moves with its own might
tomorrow begin again
inky spills dry in the night
often it moves with its own might
instrument longing to flow
inky spills dry in the night
let the page be what’s watered with sorrow
instrument longing to flow
step forward when the Muse calls
let the page be what’s watered with sorrow
let the page bring forth blossoming sprawls
step forward when the Muse calls
the green light of growing things
let the page bring forth blossoming sprawls
let yourself sing
the green light of growing things
rhythm and verses
let yourself sing
the poet says
positioned along the path of her dreams
on the lookout for light and shadow
listening for whispering inside and out
she finds language, song, and poetry
Take the bound manuscript,
ask the odds
to make it again.
1 in a trillion.
Take the blank sheet,
ask the odds
to make something.
This is why I don’t argue
about Shakespeare;
by ending with nonsense
I don’t have to face
the implications
of my metaphor.
