for Paula Vogel
being a poet is knowing precisely when
to pull down on your gear shift;
put worlds into reverse in a crushing instant;
flip up an electric emergency parking brake,
excitedly releasing your foot from its state.
but it’s too early; all you hear is crushing
sounds of pedals, tires; gears & mud
reminding you of your hopeless impatience.
being a poet is knowing precisely when
to run your tongue around rims (of sugar)—
running the risk of splitting selves in two
simply to make sure material matters know
how much they propel prose through you;
how much they couldn’t sway in winds
without your capturing of them with your you;
how you make old earth almanacs sound new.
being a poet is knowing precisely when
you transcend, genderless and genre-less in speech;
when, through speech, you suspend
any label imposed upon your wrist-tongue-in-hand.
through writing & clacking away you can reclaim;
rename notes of the tracks of vinyl’s & CD’s
you flip through aimlessly as plastic contents
kiss themselves over your fingers, timeless.
being a poet is knowing precisely when
to nod your head in agreement—
sometimes, in respect & acknowledgment—
with the humility & grace you’ve yet to access;
unlocked, uncensored versions of self you haven’t
yet introduced to your inner subconscious;
keys you haven’t slipped into slivers & sockets;
brakes you haven’t put your foot on to power cars.
being a poet is knowing precisely when
to go ahead; take that 40-m drive on half-a-tank;
place delusional confidence in your getting there;
chance the vicious voyage, minute-by-minute.
tires & tongues & truths caress clean teeth;
gritty with virility; virulence & understanding;
shedding of pretentiousness & performance;
viscous with fermented senses of confidence.
won’t it taste so sweet when, underneath dirt,
you discover the sweet sense once rancid
with the rampant desire to run, desperate,
into sounds of voices undirected; unchecked?
won’t it taste so sweet when, underneath Earth,
you discover the umami flavor of magma
& don’t immediately make yourself a martyr
for the ones who simply won’t dare to travel here?
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