In Progress

I could get used to the soft light and the red velvet parting

And the collection of my favorite things: books, colored cover, the idea of coffee.

Starting tomorrow I’ll avoid doing the things at which I am mediocre

And stick to transcending the bounds of my flesh.

Cat among the poets

Walking seamless, haunches rolling

Quietly outside the brave glow of one bulb

There was a time when Bast stretched her divine paw over the Nile

And commanded lion-shielded armies as the moon looked gently upon Rameses.

Today she plays the keyboard in a T-shirt and gets fifty million views for looking stupid

But she hasn’t learned to stop taking herself seriously.

Fraud among frauds,

god among creative gods

“All you know is that you’re fucked,” the poet says

Hoots and snaps

A room of us, gummy hunks of destructive impulses and caffeine dependency

This title of Something Like a Poet is a strange new home

Roomier than the one I built for myself

And crawled out from under when a fingernail shredded the wet paper they’d sold to me as concrete

Yowling again like my first day rudely shoved into light and noise

Who remembers being born?

I don’t-

but I think I clung blindly to red velvet then, too.


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