bidding, i’m right here

when the world
sleeps, i ask if
i am crazy. this
can’t be a fluke—
one says: Spring,
(next year); another:
Fall, this year. (o am
at the end of myself,
God.) first is furthest
year, closest distance.
second is season
bidding summer
ado this year. i
can distract
myself, eating
pretzel goldfish,
Canada Dry
my insides
until i cry.
crying for
being mis-
how many
fill my mind—
who will help
so far away?
can i live far
away again?
why does it
come up there
& not here.
maybe the
lady was right?
my brow will
curve down
the more
i look at
every care,
stead of
peaceful hither—


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s