Friday, September 9, 2022


In this particular 
of the narrative, 

just about 
all of the time 
there are days—grave, 

or engrossing, 
or just 
frivolous days—

when no circuits 
are tripped 
by that surge of imperatives, 

and I 
have absolutely 
nothing to say.

Whenever this 
happens, I just sit
for a moment 

and sift through stray 
words I find caught 
beneath my eyelids—

and arrange them 
into reiterative 

too simple, 
too insistent, and too 
true for explanation. 

And whether or not 
the arrangement
is great, I'll share 

what I've made in the dark 
with you anyway—
because just that kind 

of blind exchange,
to me, at least,
 is poetry.