Miss

I miss right now. I feel words are interrupted by thought, and I only want to feel. Tomorrow I read in public, and I don't care. I will read and leave, and forget that my words are 78 of two thousand for the day. I am looking for poems, and want to be ridiculous. I want to repeat this:


The neighbors have a cook out
and they feed the dog, bones
they give them the sensation
of being human
the way that we
walk towards each
other we walk
and we dance
we follow the chairs
the empty seats
and we begin to see
how we can go through stages
the nymph
becomes the dragonfly
and we share a cup
this is just another love poem
a lie of where we once were
a drink
there was almost an incident
when the small pick up truck
was a gust of dirt and force
there was almost a time I fell
out of love
when I worked my bones
into words
filling my mouth
like lips.