poem of the day nearly killed me today, i’m not kidding. it’s like a maze of envelopes made of snakeskin full of red letters written in gold ink that don’t say anything, it’s like punching a mirror til a blade comes out. it’s like doing push-ups in the library to find the book that i must go and read. poem of the day is like a consolidation of muscles, as if i’m sitting up straight. but today i felt a kind of dread, like, another-three-weeks-of-this kind of dread, what is going to happen to poems, what if poems die, what if they explode, or worse, just fall like stones / but that is exactly the kind of average thinking i am trying to banish from the realm, so i’m just going to assume that it’s going to be all right. sheesh, who would have thought that poems on their own could make a person want to say sheesh so
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