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;
it's
just me.
All alone.
With you.
