march 19

it's dangerous to go to poetry readings. especially if you are foolish enough to consider yourself a decent poet. it inspires you to write, it gives you hope in the power of words... it also begs the question:

why don't i write like that?
poetry is not lost on me -
i understand what you're saying
i think i get your meaning
so why have i nothing to read?
what gene am i missing,
what highschool afterschool lesson...
was i elsewhere?
perhaps i don't trust words
(and yet i'm writing this...)
perhaps there aren't enough nights
of listening to bared souls.
perhaps it's cuz nothing is constant
enough to survive the walk home
wilting in my brain before i can type.
perhaps my thoughts aren't pretty
and i don't want to see them
with so definite a face
giving the demons names.
or perhaps it's just that
by wanting to be them
i miss the point?
the answer to all these questions
goes right here
like it would in a good poem.
but i can't think of one.