Handling It
It was bad today.
I stood in Trader Joe’s two hours
five bottles of wine,
nothing I came for.
That kind of love is worse
than weeping.
I’m handling it
with the usual rituals —
Grocery store fugue states
Functional alcoholism
An empty call with mom who’s
always aging
Bills and emails
Remember we were two soft animals
fucking the sadness from each other
until we felt good everywhere?
How can you ever feel unchildish
being sad about losing that
when there are always bills and emails?
Once in sixth grade a kid called me four-eyes
so I thanked him and put my glasses on
his face and called him four-eyes.
That was handling it.
It was good today.
It was great today.
This is not about avoidance.
This is about desire
not making sense anymore.
Thank you!
This sadness. This sadness.
At a Train Station
In Rockford, Illinois I think of you
I think of you in Rockford, Illinois
and think There’s my comfort
There’s no lesson in this
except why shouldn’t it be easy
I’ll come back rather than think
in Rockford, yellow hour, diesel fumes,
thin dust, last century’s iron,
a breeze from somewhere,
bricks, sunlight, bricks,
There’s my comfort:
under the sun, not even trying to be.
