poem

 Poem #41

Sometimes I wake 

Up and there’s no poetry anywhere

Which is another way of feeling 

Everything devoid of meaning.

The coffee is just the coffee

A hot liquid in a Dad mug 

The birdsong a noise on the other

Side of the window

My body just my body

Same as it always is 

Define window

Define world

Define body

I have the answers but none of them is poetry

I don't like it like this 

Life as a series of minutes and seconds

A space where objects are arrayed.

It pinches the heart.

Without a poem

There’s no thread

With which to weave 

Together the world of things 

But now the coffee is gone

Work beckons, tasks await.

I must become again the proper noun

Who acts as he is defined.

Under the circumstances

It doesn’t seem right to leave 

5/21/22