3-11-2017

      I’ve got a lot of good 
ideas but not one 
that will carry me through 
the end of March. you were 
so close, spring, I could 
almost wind my pinky 
around your hair. you had 
an orange magic marker 
smile. I don’t have enough 
windows in my house for 
the sun to rescue me. 
my heart is kinda chipped. 
      see here people, don’t tell 
me to cheer the fuck up. 
     I’ve slept with a wood stove 
for the last four months and 
it’s a dry heat. I try things,
I fall down. the wind makes 
out like it’s got something 
important to say. same old 
wind, just pushing the same 
leaves around. I pick myself 
off the plate of my bed. 
I go to work like everyone 
else. then night folds its boxlids 
around me. I’ve never seen 
myself sleep. could be that I just 
disappear then reappear
awake in the same place.
       I'm wondering—who 
the heck do we think we are 
when we stop thinking? 
I’ll never manage full lotus 
in this lifetime. can’t seem 
to get my legs over my heart. 
I have a bear’s body, a bear’s 
attitude. this pretty man-face 
is just a painting. you can’t buy 
a disguise like this but a hat 
helps. March has too many 
more days than February. 
      who thinks such things up? 
shouldn’t the months keep 
dwindling so that you can 
step over them with less effort? 
     I keep waiting for the hurricane 
or big meteorite. right now 
a single cherry blossom 
would do. or a kiss. yeah
I could get behind a kiss.
​