chaos in oneself

but

I'm home tonight "working." And working I am. But I can't help it that I found a little poem I wrote in the back of a book a couple of years ago. I'm posting it here because I like it and I don't want to forget it, and I'm sure I will once this book is swallowed back up on my bookshelf. When this paper is done. And it doesn't really have anything to do with exercise or diets, but vegetables make an appearance, so it's not a total stretch....

**********

3 April, 2003

sitting in a target somewhere
in Maryland little eyes squeal
all around me, as
I pick at vegetables,
I dream of little eyes to love
A child. No stars. A child.
No free free life where
I sit and rock myself to sleep.
I turned 26 a few days ago but I
feel older than that sounds
I wonder if they look at me and
wish for the way my life sounds.
I read fancy books and write
urgent poetry but I cry
alone each night,

alone each night,
I swallow a diamond pen, whole.
I am a psychic you.
Call me when you are
alone but only when you are alone
and the weight of others bears
on your eyes, kill
this ache that can never
be held. Hold me tight,
but sleep alone for
years to come. I sleep
alone and dream of solitary
ghosts. I wait for your
loneliness.

Target will never sell this
poem and you will never
read this poem. Regardless.
I can't hear my mother's regrets. My
mother's regrets circle
my fingers like engagement rings
chosen.

posted by chaos @ 9:09 PM