I always hated being called poet
but I guess shoe fits.
it’s certainly a
suitable nominal title
even though I never majored in English.
and sure I never read Austin
it’s okay; neither did they.
they only wrote a bunch of essays
and haven’t since the day they graduated
I guess now we’re on the same page
I’m admittedly a slow reader
no clue how the sociohistorical context reflects any way I try to create.
you really think that was on the mind of any single one of the greats?
I mean maybe.
I don’t know.
I haven’t studied.
You can shut me up easily.
I fall swiftly to someone seeming more pretentious than me.
I know it’s “I”
People hate insects,
but prefer to watch the birds.
But, both fly. Who cares….
Some poets think they need
to travel the world for that
inspirational spark. Dickinson
stayed in her home. Wrote
in the same meter for years.
Maybe I should stop counting
and lining up all my syllables.
Else, I’ll end up a recluse like
Dickinson. A talented recluse,
but a recluse, nonetheless…
Some smile to show great joy;
some smile to prevent other’s sadness.
Sometimes it’s hard to tell which.
Some smiles don’t even know for themselves.
Staring at the map of last Saturday
trying to take it all in at once
I can remember almost every detail
with my memory capacity
All the pictures by signs
all the good food
and good times with you
It helps me
why I’m becoming
a student athlete meme
to get back to you
never stop hustling
Have you ever taken a bag of potato chips on a plane?
My current theory is that the lack of outside pressure causes the inside gas to expand.
I haven’t looked it up, but it seems sound.
The pressure builds up inside the bag.
Probably, the same reason your ears pop.
Sometimes I wonder
if it’s why I get so anxious on planes.
All the thoughts getting pushed to the surface.
Excitement, when heading where I want to go.
Sadness, when leaving where I want to be.
Maybe it’s the isolation.
A bunch of people sitting together
staring at the back of seats
all unaware of each other’s
Until we put our tray tables up,
unrelax our seats
and brace for landing.
I try to remember but it all just blends together.
It’s kinda hard to tell exactly where
the minute hand crosses from afar.
But was I happy?
(Yea, sure. I remember it. Splendidly)
(I don’t know. If I could answer. Truthfully)
But was it worth it?
(I think I’m. Too scared. Of wasting time.
Oh, god. Am I wasting it? Right now?)
to make the most of it.
to plan better in the future
hold off longer,
defer your own reward.
to live better later.
What do you remember?
(Not much. Honestly.)
But were you happy?
(I said “I don’t know,” truthfully.)
If you don’t remember
does it matter?
(I’m seriously unsure.)
What’s in the future?
What’s the point?
(What you mean?)
There’s a future’s future.