THE LIGHT DIMS
I don’t see you when the light dims.
I lie in bed all by myself.
I gather ideas and dreams
that I could never reach.
I weave stories here that unravel.
I arrange my words but
they tumble to the ground.
It is too much work to live like this,
but it is the heart that rules.
It leaves my body aching.
I thought things could change.
I guess I’m not the right fit.
I am not such a good tailor.
I stumble on my own fabric.
PICKING APART THE WORDS
You start by picking apart
the words and whatever
you consider bad you change
to anything, but gooseberries.
You make it real and speak
like man speaks. You don’t
consider this work. You don’t
expect to get paid. This is
just what you do alone. You
find your own space and
you say what needs to be said.
Every page you don’t like
you throw away and start again.
It could be morning or night,
between sleep and awake time,
you write something of substance.
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