Things to do with anger 3

of the things you can do with your anger
is stop answering the phone, hang it up
with its own chords to choke away the noise
of the requests lining up on your door.

Chores

The pan's lifted out of the fire
no burnt, the food filling stomachs

the sheets dry with the tinge
of the sweat that lined them for days

the boots all sparkling clear
of the dusk walked over in the streets

there is so much order in the house
where does this silence come from, then?

repetition, creation, repetition

The will to create
evaporates
with banality of repetition

Gypsy music

The nomadic in you
asks you to run
the music demands you stay.

Strike

It is all closed, the storefronts
the streets, all void of people

it is all kept at bay
the cooking, the school-boys running with burdened bags

it is all left behind
the tiresome, slow hours of work

it is all closed off, striking
except the windows to my heart, open.

like odd birds

Yesterday's discarded clothes on the table
you speak of desire like one speaks of birds
flying at odd directions, in odd hours
I listen as I put the clothes back in their shelves

a writing in the head

How frustrating
is the process of writing
something that you cannot hear in your head

as I wait for an official paper

I wait behind the desk
as a starving cat jumps
into a void trashcan

History, repetition

History repeats itself as a lesson, you said
History repeats itself as
History repeats itself as a
History repeats itself as a lesson
a lesson that keeps coming back to crack you open

History repeats itself as a regret, she said
History repeats itself as
History repeats itself as a
History repeats itself as a regret
a regret of the things no one could have done, even after trying

History repeats itself as a chance, he said
History repeats itself as
History repeats itself as a
History repeats itself as a chance
a chance for it to stop from turning back on its own head


History repeats itself as a lesson
History repeats itself as a regret
History repeats itself as a chance
it keeps repeating itself, history- keep paying attention to the patterns.

routine

A day recoils

With an old, warm fool surrender

This is routine 

in the old country

This disappointment
like blood, lives and breathes
inside of me.

incomplete poetry

the words, all incomplete, half-rhymes
half lines, how do you imagine them to be whole
when the letters do not speak to one another?