259/365

doing the things you love
when you don’t want to
show real intention.
the slow grind of devotion:
strap those running shoes on.
pluck the strings.
mix that drink.
consume those pages.
scratch out this poem.
everyday. one. step. at. a. time.

waiting on a book of poetry
i’ve ordered. hoping a few lines
will act like grenades to blow
my limbs apart and shatter my heart.
everyday i wait patiently at the empty
mail box to be obliterated. and they say
poets don’t have any power.