It's easier to start with breathing
And empty space
I can do that; simple enough
Except for maybe tuberculosis with
Coughing and blood froth.
I don't have time for
this—Only for grades—
analyzing, quantifying
contextualize, mathmatecize
poetry. Grownups love
figures.
Poetry
is not for grownups.
It's for butterflies. Listen closely.
—closer—
To the
ta tum ta tum ta tum ta tum ta tum
of—their—wings.
Taskmastertomorrow gets the job done.
He patrols the aisle and looks
Over my shoulder. My thoughts smear like ink.
My whole life—waiting—for questions
—questions for which I have
prepared answers.
"love" I say "should be said more slowly."
The butterfly counts—
Not months—
But moments,
And has time enough.
