I can’t reach the
Sediments settling in
The lining between my
Daydreams and responsibilities,
Every gap a yawning canyon,
Repetitions of “Tomorrow, I’ll–”
And it’s still today in spite of
Night and the
Glue leaking from my dirty pores,
For every unclean, slow dream sticks to me;
I have never moved, not even once.
Self-loathing is a cloak so darling on me, I don’t
Dare believe I’ve still got skin beneath its silk;
Indolence and his ilk indulge my inhibitions,
I heed every excuse and superstition.
I’ll get up, momdadyousunbossprofessorgodme,
I will, I’ll do it, right after
I craft a metaphor as essential as “sticky pearls”
Right after the death of effort,
Right after I’ve got nothing left to say.
Oh, someone kiss these ugly words from me!
I can create nothing so beautiful as
A love warmly given and held by four palms
Like an apple, or a prayer.
