Work? I come to libraries to cry; the book towers
make me feel appropriate. Did you know we sleep in hour-
and-half-long circles? I figured that means I could run
two laps and be fine and it was true so I started cutting down to one.
My friend thinks poetry is self-indulgent and I think she’s right.
Sometimes I want to be right but then I remember my thoughts
and change my mind. Did you know our minds can hold
two simultaneous antitheticals? like a double-ended spoon but
once you realize you forgot to not let the rooster in the coop
it’s too late, game over. You have two fighting chickens on your hands.
Feathers everywhere. I side-stepped a pile of either dust
or shaved black hair coming out of class by the back
stairway and my imagination wanted to entertain me
with dark possibilities but I was too tired. Sometimes I feel like a withholding wife
which is creepy because doesn’t that suggest having sex with myself? but
the metaphor’s stuck in me and masturbation isn’t a sin anymore;
it’s therapy. My friend thinks poetry is self-indulgent and I wonder
if she’s on to something. But I’m not going to ask around
because let’s say I find out from unreliable sources that it’s good
and reliable sources (yes I still believe in reliability, almost) that it’s not?
I’d be stuck in a tight spot not quite like that rock and place but like
between a plastic side of one of those bursting moonbounces which have,
it seems to me, very little to do with the moon, and empty space.
I have been thinking about structure a lot, the way we organize infinity.
Take this desk for example, the way it creates a sense of womblike
wooden privacy, with its high walls, its wonderful strength.