i am lousy with fantasy
absolutely bedridden with desire
swarmed by images that root and grow
root into the deep lonely places
i think about the seat by the window
are there buildings or redwoods beyond the glass?
i think about the houseplants
and the big lazy cat on the armchair
i think about coming home at 5pm
from a job that’s bigger than i am
from an office that’s bigger than i deserve
i think about the warmth of that house
and the smell of dinner my wife cooks
who is she? my wife, i mean
who is the me that she’s married?
am i so far from me, today
am i so new and learned
am i finally worthy?
i deserve a big warm house
city lights and morning hikes
and distance, distance from this place
the place in my mind that yearns so fiercely
this fierce yearning eats me alive
what am i doing wrong?
have i done anything right?
i write bad poetry for nobody’s eyes
i dream in colors not yet discovered
i am lousy with fantasy
absolutely bedridden with want