~~~~
Have you ever been sad at the grocery store? I think of myself
sometimes as drowning. The perpetual sea of poems swim in my
head instead of words or thought or action. I run out of words quite
often, actually, but I don’t run out of poems. Occasionally, I lie
in bed at night and shake with the force of them. I have been speaking
so much of desire — desiring, desired, object of, heady with — that
perhaps what I am saying is the symptom of endless waitingness. I
am taken with this, taken with this; this inaction. Instead of ending it,
I vomit poems in the sink and buy my cereal and distilled water in
the self checkout lane.
