I’m not sure why I wrote this poem. I sat down at my desk this morning with the intention of doing some paperwork. That intention got lost. Maybe I was feeling low and wanted to play with some thoughts and words to cheer me up. Anyway, it turns out that a poem about why I write poems was what was distracting me. It was written down pretty quickly so I was able to get the paperwork done as well. Except one thing, which I’ll do tomorrow.
Poem it’s just a thing you do a place to be close to what is ordinary to the stream of stuff rolling past it’s just a thing you do to hold a moment in place to let go of letting go to keep your feet moving forward it’s just a thing you do a place to be to cast an empty mind into the stream of stuff rolling past it’s just a thing you do to stop your feet from moving fast so fast you trip and forget and fall into what is ordinary it’s just a thing you do a place to be a music stowed in thought in the words you tie together hoping someone might sing the thing you do into being
