To write poetry, something must stir.
Come undone crawlingly, raise its hydra head.
Sit by raging waters, let your dark side churn.
Toss back imaginary curls and wade into lines.
To write poetry, something must give.
A singleness of being, the dizzying freedom of time,
A torrid landscape and
anguish of heart.
To write poetry, something must fold.
Silently, dangerously, beckon you
Darkened rooms, burning spirit, the severing of all ties
Solitude, restlessness, the non-mundane
Let it storm tonight, like
I’m nobody’s wife.
To write poetry, something must shift.
If I can locate the gear
Of my charmed Californian existence and
Reset happiness, calm, to baseline with
the edge of my
Until then, love
As a being
While the phrases float
paper boats of