it's rainy cold days like this when
i don't want to write at all i'd rather
sit on the porch as it comes down in curtains
& rushes through the downspouts onto
crickets squeaking happily & watch the
gigantic fox squirrel that's nearly as old as me
bounce dutifully across the yard

i tell myself i was never in jr high
humidity-caked-on-makeup never turned me on
& i wasn't remotely curious about sweater mountains
i convince myself that i do my best stuff
when the sun is shining anyway
or the stars are falling from the black sky
beside the esoteric but flavorful moon
& i'd rather get coffee-drunk & giggle at cartoons
watch the world jitter through emblazoned pink eyelids
or ******* to a time-lapse video of a dazzling
white tulip stretching up toward the sun
when i have the gypsy cave to myself

but i bust out the pen & crack knuckles
or pull up a pristine word document
& scar it anyway as the rain drops down to a drizzle
still kicking down the puffs of dust & lime-rock
that usually flutter around & wait for
the internal river of thought to overflow or
crumble thru the dam of my mouth & i shout
like a neurotic with savage zest &
thunder pulsing thru his veins

i don't want to merely know it
i want to feel it