hiatus i haven’t written anything
but a grocery list
in two weeks
it’s times like these
you think, why not bag it up and stop?
the world could use
one less poet in it
but three mags just took my stuff
so i’m on an ego boost
up with the morning dj
that i’ve been listening to for years
up before the sun
can infect the sky with its madness
and the desk is full of half-finished poems
story and novel notes
a list of places to send more poems
i don’t recognize the ambitious guy
who sat here fourteen days ago
i’ve been on a two-week bender
my head and eyes hurt
and all can shit are small bricks
i look at the poem fragments and notes
and it’s all gibberish to me
it all goes in the trash
and i sit there staring at the wall
waiting on either a renewal
or a suicide
only i have no clue
which one it’s going to be.
