poem

 Poem #26

I keep writing these poems to draw attention.  So desperate to be seen.  Maybe if I paid more attention to myself I wouldn’t have to write so loud.  I’m making a scene, so many verses about cachectic trees with cracked bones, the wind searching for marrow.  Oh well, there’s nothing there.  I’ve looked. I’ve shattered all the mirrors.  I keep setting cacophonous alarms but I don’t wake up.  In a certain dream I never get home.  I keep pulling over and scribbling down lines on half sheets of paper. The hospital is always in my rear view mirror. Feeling needed is a way to stay alive.  I don’t want to miss my exit.  Last rest area for a million miles.  I have plenty of gas.  I’m laying on the horn and lighting flares.  But I don’t want any help.  I leave the engine idling. I’ll figure this out.  One more stanza without a single damn rhyme.  The wind is picking up. That might be the growl of distant thunder. Or a gathering pack of wolves.  I’ll have to shout.  Maybe just drive. I'm running out of time. When I arrive I slam the door so someone will hear. I recognize the place by the sound of my own voice.

8/23/21