No, I won’t write you into my poem,
and no, I don’t want to talk about time.
For I waste it on simple naps to faraway
places and an empty gas tank sending off
friends. It was all at peace until it wasn’t,
and now life feels a little messy again. But it is
not, and yes, I will clean up the mess. Yes, I will
do the laundry. Yes, I will fold the laundry. Yes,
I will air out the dampness and let the dark
breathe a little – the light will keep it parched.
The dark will always come back for more, and when
it does, I will hurry again. Express lane at terminal C
– but we’re at a dead stop. Sometimes I want to fly
away when the gas pedal doesn’t do time justice.