(Pre-script: I pulled this one out of the archives. I wrote it 11 years ago, and thought it would be fun to post today. No music required, just the poem a la carte. Enjoy.)
I would have made up my mind yesterday,
but the fly in my skull would not let me sleep,
and the itching in my brain was
the way my mother used to sing too loud
whenever she was remembering
too many things at once,
and so I stayed up, fully aware
of how comforting this blanket of darkness felt
against my throbbing consciousness.
And if I cannot make it this week,
it is because the ants in my left cheek are finally hatching,
and I could not resist the urge
to scratch and peel away
the delicate skin, like a peach,
just to watch the way they run their kingdom,
and the way this blood is able to nourish
such pathetically busy creatures,
so it is not that I have forgotten you;
(there is a scratch on my memory where you tripped twice this morning
when you were busy spinning your web.)
-XOXO,
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