Unconscious. That is what I am.

I run into walls and didn't wipe
away all the *** when I
stood up from the toilet seat.

Angry too, because some days
mock us.
I barely stopped myself
from paying 8K in income
taxes for being in a hurry
to do something I was too
anxious to get done.

And we are all angry,
for being so mediocre,
but without any other
thing to praise I look up
to granola for being
the perfect compliment
to six o'clock Jameson's.

Later I will grade myself
a D minus for calling this
creativity, and stop
asking so many questions.


Sara Fielder © Feb 2021

You know for certain
that their love
is gone as soon as
they whip out
their cell phone to
start Googling your
knowledge of things
in the same way you
use Fact-Check to verify
presidential quotes.


Sara Fielder © Jan 2021

At hard things.
Unanswered questions. Traffic.
Contemplating death's certainly,
so I say to you,
if we become lost in the
leggy labyrinth of love I might
cradle your elbow.



Sara Fielder © Jan 2021

does not
correspond
with other poems
who have angels
looking over them.

This poem is as ugly as I am
try as I might to add glimmer.

This poem was born in Egypt.
It borrowed trouble from
the Beginning,
but still wants you to
lick the little dewdrops off
its weedy leaves.

Sara Fielder © Jan 2021

It could be the wine talking,
but what do I know of love?
Tis not so deep as a nick
shaved off the surface
of our ****** worlds
of self analysis. Was I
in love today when
second guesses orbited during
tight-roped conversations?
Pluck these
unatural thoughts when
family love is doubtful.


Sara Fielder © Jan 2021

I was casually reading
all that desperate yearning
for loves validation thinking,
"needs can't be
satisfied by other beings who
cry for the same things you do."
It's a bit like trying to resuscitate something already dead
before it's even born.

Sara Fielder © Jan 2021

There we were worrying.
We, us, I in schism.
These people in whom
we trust, and the surface layer of skin everyone else thinks defines you.
The fear that holds back
rationality.
But there you are with
heart palpitations and angry at
how the pile of it all
gets in the way so inconveniently,
and to stop worrying almost becomes more trouble than it is worth.


Sara Fielder © Dec 2020