I will not write poems

Tonight I will not write poems
smelling of sawdust and rats and morning
puke by the coffee's side

tonight I will not write poems
the size of the Atlantic
too far are images, too big metaphors

tonight I will not write poems
that jump rope and play skip
the stone, sometimes the boundaries are already fixed

tonight I will not write poems
because the taste of oranges is still in my mouth
too soft and tangy unlike poems

tonight I will not write poems
I have not lost anyone, nor gained anything by waiting
other than my faith running out of Elixir

tonight I will not write poems
of exile and of home
what you return into is boxed in memory, alphabetically

tonight I will not write poems
my hands are tied and my eyes are merciless
the voices make up most of the space I occupy, every day

tonight I will not write poems
not until the last star turns off its lights
and goes to bed.