I’ll Be Alive Enough to Write

This morning I can’t find a thought to anchor the boat of inner peace I’ve been trying to sail in bad weather for god knows how long. Some mornings it’s easy to slow myself down and wait for my waves of emotion to die down until I can see to the bottom of why I care so much and to what end.

But this morning is one for the weather in my head to blow down. Experience tells me tonight will be just as ungrounded.

I’ll arrive home from work to sit in my chair in front of one of my favorite programs on Netflix. 4 hours later I’ll realize it’s time to go to bed, an empty bowl of what was once rotini and marinara on my lap,

the perfect aftermath to a day spent floating in the shark-infested waters all low-income, service-worker poets know will always keep them just barely afloat and alive enough to work and write another day in paradise.

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