Something in the Way I Move

Most often it seems that it is

only when no one else is around

that our most lovely ideas

present themselves.

As an example,

prior to this

I was in the throes of the human

anti diuretic hormone

expressing itself in my bathroom

when I had a fantastic idea

which of course

now

has perished with the rain.

In twenty hours I will have no home

but still my shelves are riddled with

statistical formulae scribbled on lined paper,

a shockingly cheap complete works of Shakespeare,

and a black heart carved of wood

that tells my name (first and second but not last)

the date of my first presence

and my weight upon birth.

(it was ten pounds and seven ounces, for the curious)

Since I loathe, utterly, preparations for the future,

it is not surprising that in place of many boxes

I had only one (James B. Beam Distilling Co.)

Instead I use small bags that slowly kill our world,

if well meaning persons

or scientists

are to be believed.

I never mind drinking here

because it is my home.

I cannot embarrass myself

or give scandal

within walls for which I’ve paid.

I do not remember, of course, the snippets

of my life

that should most color me with shame.

I am told that I have spit on floors

and sent vomit to trashcans

and swung fists

at the parents of dear friends.

I never decorated the walls

and so they remain the bright

demonic white

of one year ago

when many were my tears

at the thought of losing my home.

My friend told me

that it moved him

that I wept for Haiti.

I did not want to say

that I will weep for anything.

It is not hard.

I am practiced.

I had loved my room

because of blankets

placed with deep strategy

to confound the penetrating nature

of light,

and, too, for the malefaction and decay

that carved itself into flame and smoke

and ecstasy.

I had loved my door for the crack

where the light peeked in,

for the bolt that I alone could spin,

but mostly for the way that,

often,

no one knocked upon the steel.

This offering,

like my life,

was likely only

planned

nominally.

Accordingly all insults

will be accepted.

I am in a horrifying mood

and thus not at all amenable

to creating things that anyone

likes.