Tuesday, January 29, 2019


I know—the face of the earth 
is only an idio-
matic expression

but the place is so vast, I confess
I get scared
to look, let alone

gaze—let alone choose
where I'm going
to stay.

They say, even vandals
are great artists too, in their
own beautiful way

and that we must each
invent our own instruments,
and that it's okay

to just use the verses
to get to
the chorus—but

I confess, in lieu
of songs—I'd sooner make
drowsy non-

linear poems
like this one
when I want to

cultivate a little chaos,
in which
there's no chaste aesthetic

or dramatic
point of view;

just me.
All alone.
With you.