Well/Dam (His/Hers)

White noise is
every song I love or
liked even once. The
lilting that helps to hush
day-to-day stress, loneliness
and mental origami.
My white noise is Hallelujah

dreaming is overkill

at least until

my playlist sounds like a

noise that becomes a pulley

Say It Like A Poem

I’m not saying it

like a poem

I am sitting
in the middle of it

Repeating it back

It is in rhythm 
nearly every time 

So often
you won’t even notice 

hung over

When you go home 

where do you hang your robe?

Do you always put it

on the same hanger

in the back of your closet 

or is it hung over 

a chair back 

in your bedroom? 

I want to know

where your hate lives 

when you are not wearing it

secretly

Do you sniff it

to know when

it is time to run it

through the washing machine? 

Can you smell your mother’s laundry detergent 

when you wear it?

Do you think

if maybe you were born

a little earlier,

we wouldn’t be in your father’s mess…

or do you understand

basic human decency?

If you want to disrobe now, 

I think that’s the only way

to correct your moral arc  

and footprint on sacred landmarks

What is in the water

that makes you so hateful

but

fills me up with lovely things

that keep spilling over 

Are you drunk with ignorance?

Or just hungover