-
you respond to what wasn’t said, then take my wordsand turn them into weapons, complete with a silencer, hear them without listening, then quickly respond to what you thought was meant, with fast words shotout like bullets in defense of what wasn’t the intent.Words can be clumsy attempts at expressions of feelings; even if we speak
-
Today, depression feels like Nobody can save me, Only I can save myself, And I can’t save myself.
-
to use any words other than those ratified by the media as reasons for what happened to the ear of the ex-president;Violent. Loner. Diabolical. Democrat. Republican. Don’t say sorrowful, wasted, ruined to describe the person, who,at 17, may have donated money to a progressive group on the day a Democratic president was sworn in; don’t ask why
-
Years later, I can see how the thing that was us would work, but then, I doubted, promised, took the ring, but didn’t work. When you’re very young, the results are predictable, you try hard, but with no support, winging it, doesn’t work. Looking back, a pattern emerges, and one mistake leads to another, tangled on
-
a living grandfather for my children, a figure more in proportion, curly auburn hair that could grow waist length, an early master’s degree in poetry, a fifth or tenth or twentieth anniversary, a way to eradicate the impact some
-
July 1, 2024 The whole entire fucking neighborhood’s on fire, and I don’t know what I’m going to do…
here We the People go, and it’s not just my house, it’s our house, every house all around is burning,and everyone’s doing something different,no one seems to be in charge,no rescue since the fire department’s on fire too, someone’s shouting not to give up, someone’s standingon their rooftop, someone’s inside watching Netflix, someone’spacked and backing
-
There’s plenty of time, I think, as if I werea youngster of thirty or forty or fifty or sixty,to do whatever’s on my wish list: a visit abroad,work on my book of poems; take a vacation somewhereI haven’t been. Then I stumble across a poem someone’swritten about caring for their dear mom, the fragility,the frequent
-
at least, according to my cardiologist, who I believe, despite his charming bedside manner,does not really know what to say to me,and so he pats me on the wrist and tells methat I’m doing fine, prescribes a little mobile EKGdevice, which I can use to reassure myself, when my heart starts all that thumping like
-
I’m afraid these are the best that I can do, unpublished, they aren’t good enough, so I can never claim to be a poet. Not true, but shared feeling among many poets.
-
He wakes to find the ivory towerhe’d sealed himself into some time agonow held him captive, his spouse the prison guard, not the perfect princess she had been. While staring out the window one dark night,he sees a bird across the way singingand calls it with a promise of his love,in return for something he’s
Words from Inside My Head 