I write a poem
and feel numb
satisfaction. There
was a time when
that one poem
was enough.

It is not anymore.
I need
that is not
poem or posy.

I need something
that will swell,
dwelling on
its own retention;
an undividing cell
that will fatten,
bursting its walls,
flooding the universe
in its aftermath;
with its waste.

Something like
love or loss.
Something that arrives
with an
anticipating grief,
suffocated and resuscitated
by the memory of itself
inhabiting another body.

I need something
I do not know;
something I've had
but I've forgotten.
Something that
reminds me
I've lived (damn it)
and that i am
still living
in spite of not
having whatever I have

"I need something to fly
over my grave again,"
while I'm driven
far from where I began.
I need another hot
cup of coffee
and a hand over my hand;
something like understanding
assembling itself out of silence.

I need this
and I need
not to need
any of this.

I need to write a poem
that will be enough,
if just for old times sake
when it was enough
to make the day worth it.

I am not who I was
when all this began
and I need to become
all right with this
because here and now
I am not all right.
I want to be.
I need to be.
But I am not.

narrative poem written on 01-20-2015 by: on mattkane.com
view image of poem


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