the Last Poem

every time I write a poem,
I think to myself, what if this
is the last one I ever write?
eventually one poem
will have to be the last.
I could make this one
the last by refusing
to write another one.
I did that twenty years ago
but then I wrote another. but
what if the Last Poem
isn’t any good? what if
the first poem
I ever wrote was my best,
and it’s all been downhill
ever since? these are the things
that keep me up at night
sometimes.

Tropicalia

this place is wild with nature:
great green leaves like jewels
trembling in the rain with sips of
water held in their emerald cups,
little brown striped lizards
bopping and hopping around
like windup toys, sleek
dark grackles with feathers
that gleam iridescent in the bright
sunlight. at night the tree frogs
creak out their intermittent,
ugly song, while the pool
lights change colors with
aching, subtle slowness
like the way my mind changes
when I’m not noticing. I look
and they’re purple; I look away
and then they’re green. only the
steps and the walls remain
the same, like buried ruins
from some underwater civilization,
some long lost cousin
of Atlantis. I could live here
and forget about life
for a while.

today.

you made me breakfast
today. I stepped on your toe
today. we watched
a game show and I felt stupid
today. we had sex twice
today. I wondered if
the bloom was off the rose
because of me and my
tactless big mouth
today. how could anyone
who doesn’t hate himself
want me? I still don’t
understand it, but I love you
and I think, I hope
you still love me.
I hope it’s the first
of many days where
we work it out and enjoy
each other through
thick and thin
like we did
today.

low ebb

it’s just this: I’m too tired
to care about all the things
I should be worrying about
and too tired to care
that I don’t care. you may ask
how on earth am I so tired
when I slept for ten hours
last night and eleven hours
the night before that, and today’s
exertions were so minor
they barely even registered
a blip on the exercise meter.
probably I’m overtired
from sleeping too much
and not doing enough.
whatever! all I know is that
I’m at a low ebb of my energy,
my mood, and my body is done
being awake. I’d give anything
to be sleeping and/or not feel
so fucking tired.
kill me now or put me to bed,
whichever is quicker.