281/365

the weight of ideas
are too heavy
for practical execution.

the potential each day
to get it right and write
a masterpiece- one about
the kid doing a front flip
in my classroom today
as we listen to tupac and the pixies,
another for her birthday,
one about how when we watch tv
i always feel like crying,
but can’t blame the emotionality
on menopause or anything
that’s been named.

there are enough feelings
to ignite a daily inferno,
but the fuel and the breath
are in short supply.

some days-
just living the poetry
is all we can expect
from our poets.