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Bad poetry One day I, too, wanted to be a blackbird
and then suddenly, an elk. I can’t explain why
I want the things I do, still afraid of the words
freedom, meditation.
you slept in the light
of that old piano, why
would you ever speak?
with arms like axes
I just wanna feel anything
without splitting it.
cab to the airport
I made a drink called “taxi”
tequila, and gin.
I can’t explain why the music makes me sad like
it does sometimes. The grinding teeth
the migraines
but you cannot say the hours haven’t brought me here.
Are you listening or
aren’t you dead yet?
