i am weary of this dance with my thoughts
protecting them from intruders
a red-winged blackbird screaming
from her nest
& begging disinterest to lift
& fade like a fog
i am free but
the words on my page
are belongings
demanded and coveted
against my desires
and of my desires &
desires against desires
i am weary of taking messages
amanuensis to your muse
hello the doctor is in
your pills are in the mail
the check may be delayed
by several weeks
or years
burning rage
would feel cooler
than this hot desperation
blow the wind, then:
this isn’t
how it sounds
mattress dungeon 