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