There's red,
there's white,
there's blue.

There's other colors too.

I get dizzy daily,
doubting deadly.

I go mad with
breakfast,
and manic
miming,
chaining
choices,
changing
timing.

It's not
choosing one thing
that smalls me,
but refusing
all else,
like a spoiled
king.

A careful kind of coward,
we pretend to be calm,
budgeting our secrets
like money or time,
waiting for some weather
or high holy eyes,
to take down the china,
to feast on each other.

fingerprints
on glasses
on water rings
on tables.

i think you
make messes
so i know
that you were
here.

I started rereading
Walt Whitman
to steal
some of his genius.

A couple hours later,
he had eaten
all of mine.

All these clumsy men
don't know what to be
and do even that
much too loud.

Some seam has burst in me,
and now I duel with the universe.

It keeps telling me it's big,
I keep doubting it's enough.

This space in me
eats galaxies,
so I dodge things
of value,
squirrels and news
and nurses,
anything that blinks.

But who ever heard
of a hurricane
that chooses?