mumbles

i don’t understand

how

i’ve met so

many smart people

to see so little change

from one day to the next

and even a few years ago

have the same numbness

like a blanket

that when it’s taken off

there is another fold underneath

and when that goes

another fold

another fold

another fold

and you’re told

bundled and forgotten

that

folding another blanket

could be a solution

but everything seems

too warm

solid becoming liquid

liquid to gas

that you do not see much

more than the holy hills

around where these smart people

do things

i don’t understand

*

live your life

like a poem

because then

you’ll find a twist

that will leave

you sharing that

march behind others

mumbling here here

at the end,

only to yell it

to someone ahead

here here

come here

there is a poem

i wish to tell

that should not be forgot

because it is mine

and i am it

and it is alive

though i’m not

and real

though i’m not

and twisted

though it can be straightened

if you give me time

to mumble through