there have been, already, 9 days in April. here
there have only been five entries
not so much poorly composed poems
as hopeful words hoping to pass themselves off
in the form and shape
maybe the sense
but, likely, not
there have not been enough of them for each day
and so
like so much of everything
that matters much
there will be no way of catching up

the other day, the cat was on the porch roof. her silly faced silent scream on the other side of the second floor window wanting in. i raised the glass and in she came. now, she knows something she didn't know before. something i didn't know we didn't want her to know. crashing the blinds, at any given moment. to get out.

it's raining, now. the weather turning miserable cold. i want her to stay on this side. but she's got other ideas.

on the porch, i hear distant cattle crying. and the rain keeps time like footsteps through the darkness.

perhaps it's alright, to fantasize about reading camus to you for bedtime stories. wrap you up in all the permadusk of dreams. let you know that i don't have any plans for you. and that'll be the thing that sails you. like paper boats. on.

things usually aren't simple
like driving on the right side of the road
or trying to choose the right toaster bread
things always come to order
and every day
is a new day
don't chase a moving target
don't believe in wise tales wise cracks or wise men
remember that, no matter what, i will always love you
and if your gut tells you something

Teaching Romeo and Juliet
at 39
reminds me how
to horrify
and leave us

sometimes my ears ring
when i think about
things i'll never know
what it's like to have a baby
to find myself alone
i've been brushing my teeth
with bee venom and
trying not to think too far ahead