winter hangover

i can read

other people’s thoughts

and they say

am i as crazy

as that man

who is reading my thoughts

or am i worse

because i

don’t know if that’s

what he’s thinking

and some days

i don’t know what i’m thinking

because i change so quickly

before i understand

what it was and meant

to change like,

not that,

or this,

but,

well,

me,

or wait,

slow down,

that man too

where did he go

is he still listening in

am i

*

winter hangover

summer drunk

i am now in the haze of fall

with a tongue metronome

over my lips

and hopefully someone else’s

while in the cold

so it’s hard to remove

and i can spend time

explaining what it means

to mean to another

without needing explanation

*

the moment writing

becomes too tough

i should stop

ripping poems

from fingers

and fuck off

hoping that gets me

off fucking

and nailing lines

to white spaces

trying to create

black babies that

don’t bleed as much

as their parent