i have not let my interpretation speak
for itself, for it lacks a self
and no one is there to scoop it up
and recite it.
i am elsewhere-
i am writing poems-
pretending to be a wildcat
though i am bound-
still there has got to be something
i care for enough to name and
set apart.
it doesn't matter if i'm awake to this,
i woke up moments before any message
was even sent to wait for it,
dreamed that all the walls had windows
and i was hovering like a target.
the focus is lack
the dissonance is filthy tangible
i've been practicing
i've been practicing writing poems
until i love them
and then throwing them away.
