poem of the day 09.16.09

you

the thoughtful emails
the well wishers
the blog readers
and the kind editors
and such
and you sit at
the machine
before the sun rises
with all of this good grace
the kind you never had
as a kid
and you think
fuck, now i’ve been cursed.
it was so easy before this
one room
the dark mornings
you and the words
and the gods looking down
from the wall.
but now?
what will they think of this?
what if my mother reads it?
maybe they’ll like this one.
and you find, even though you aren’t shit
nothing but a little voice
in an endless vacuum
that your head is getting bigger
that you forgot
who you started all of this business for
in the first place
this writing.
well, let me remind you
you did it for yourself
you dumb, fat pollack
you always did it
for you.