Fail Better.
I feel myself going into myself, coiling inwards
here, in this cursed place; here in this place where
not everything thrives, mostly everything withers
under threat of salt water or smog. I have seen the
evidence, the flooding, the smoke and charred skin
the hot glow of desire and then the binding
If a poem is written, as if one’s life depended on ink
would write in blood if necessary, does it fall like a tree
in the woods / without witness, does it make a sound?
I evolve my answers as the questions become harder
I want and wanting does not feed and clothe babies, it
does not know the language of fuel and utilities
To trust it is pure madness and I am tenacious, at risk
of fracture I keep walking this tightrope, hoping the
next step will be something I could stand on, real
as existence, sure as gravity. I reach with hands and
arms outstretched, still it seems so far and the bottom
is so hard; falling, failing, a bough breaking
words scatter like seeds on a hard wood floor, and I
take a deep breath, kneel down and pick up the pieces
try again, fail again / find a new beginning.
*
