re-introduced

my poetry hasn’t died it’s just been tossed out with the dirty diapers

1. Mixed on low for 3-5,

2. Slid into the oven,

3. My poetry

4. High school

5. College

6. Now headaches

7. And a laughing boy named bliss

8. And my poetry 

9. I left it behind 

10. years ago. 

I realized it's been 10 years since Nelson's writer's Paris.

10 years of this blog!

___

Hey, wait up...

poetry I like us,

and our fire.

the list (where I described how I want my life to be) felt like you. 

I want 'me the poet' to be my eyes, 

my brain.

I love to 

feel real 

in the way I do with a pencil.

let's shake hands again, poetry.

let's hang out on my kitchen floor like we hung out eating lunch in school hallways, backs against lockers.

let's hang out in my son's hospital, if we have to.

let's hang out through deployments and meet again over solitary tea, just me in the evenings, just me and you, and it'll feel real and fiery and 

like I have new glasses.

Sharper. vivid. 

I'll see blurry things clearly, I'll see clear things that'd gone unnoticed,

and notice the details of this peace lily and my marriage, and the arch of my life 

in a way

we both want

food for you

focus for me

lets strike a deal

?

poetry when I'm hungry is dangerous.