love your self's self where it lives
-anne sexton

s'not poetry
the sky's a sign
it's a nursery rhyme
it's a maze
it's that flexing closeness
time of day

it's the way everyone
feels like
they're the straightest shooter

it's me remembering the guy
in the Paris Hilton sex tape
saying that a camera
was like a third person in the room

I appreciate that kind of prop

the shy kid morphs into
the famous journalist
behind his or her cam
having a reason to be there

is just a stones throw away
it is possible to turn loose,
it is possible it doesn't have to be that good

a maniac can roll up on a horse
and vote for himself
he's not that good

you can hear the waves from the bathroom
I'm not bored
I want this and more
would my parents think I don't deserve
this kind of vacation?

I can be pissed and still fall asleep
like true, like false
as when a bee lands on your jeans
and you say
it's because I'm sweet

the restaurant is imaginary
just made out of noise
lead into by a gate made of numbers

the tax of the weekend
is feeling only
exactly happy or exactly sad
in intervals
like the waves

reel to reel
I'm the frustrated cowboy
no run, no wave
can take the squirm away

everything is both
when the sea's
on both sides
of me

but somehow
I can still lay my head
anywhere
unlike my family,
some friends
body eager to go to sleep
brain somehow not
afraid of my dreams

the nightly remix
of rancor that surprises me
reupholstered
in fresh new scenes