Poem-a-day

[greenstorm]

#31 62 pages of poems, or, a breakdown in which I can only write poetry

When I can’t scream I write
When I can’t sing I write
When I can’t write I write
When I can’t write
I write poetry


#32 Place.

It’s where you hang your hat.

Incidentally where you meet
Your mother father sister brother lover
But it’s not family

Bring your children there
And raise them with your utmost care
But it’s not responsibility

Live there,
Mind and soul and daily routine
But it’s not in thoughts

Eat and sleep there
Body tended and pleasured
But it’s not of the body

It’s abstract
Lines on the mortgage document
If you rent maybe just
An instinct and a relief.

Not a relative,
Not an obligation
Not an influencer of decisions
Not origin and destination of your flesh