The reason I write poetry is
-I’m sorry friend,
I forgot that
I have a date and we are going to a funeral

what’s that?
I can’t – the reason I think poetry is I – hear you over
the people yelling about christmas stories or love or money

the reason I decided to write tonight
is that I was trampled by a mass of people
so I walked into the bathroom
but it was too late
so i started shaving my face
but I cut myself and put a bandaid on it
but a bandaid is a mask
and you were not with me
but why was there a woman in the bathroom?
and why is she talking about
how retarded her child is
when he seems perfectly okay?

I’ve not shown up like I may have promised I would
But it is simple; my thoughts are muddled
By the overwhelming perfection of

her face