Monday, February 22, 2021

CONTROL

This is never far 
from the tip 
of my tongue: 

I would do anything 

to keep myself 
from dissolving. 

But perhaps this 
is wrong. 

Perhaps bliss, 
as we know it,
is the feeling 

of being 
tossed—

a warm lozenge, 
pink 
and sweet, 

lost to the gray heart 
of a cool salty sea.

*

Lately, I love 
to catch myself

being in the wrong.
As if 

winding up 
naked in a bad dream 

were proof-
positive: 

any narrative 
which recurs 

is controllable—
can be 

soothing.