punks and poets

Are you out there?

I bought sticky notes for our walls, though

I am in debt. You

know I am a split entity

sort of Frankenstein-sea-monster, overheating

without you to cool my heart down.

 

I keep thinking about the ease of ignoring how frozen

my feet were in the water-

how unaffectedly exposed my shoulders were

in that dress to the mist,

how long I could have sat shivering

on that bench.

You know I don’t like to make decisions

based on temperate conditions.

 

We both believe that underground musicians

are saving the world in their own sort

of peace webs-

that amateur punks and poets

are the energy change we all need.

 

We answer the 36 questions to fall in love,

after having fallen in love. To

trace it back,

I’m yours because you spill everything,

so please don’t put yourself down.

 

We’re already there. Already home. Of

incomplete poems and thrashing one-liners,

of incense and tarot cards, of wake

me up when you do and please don’t leave.

 

You know I have never held a focused thought.

That my heart is in freeform.

 

We soak from a distance in dim light,

and I put pen to paper for

the ways you make my life

my life.