I'm so good at this sometimes.
This blank page pen ink turns newsprint.
This thoughts arm hand fingers words.
I want to fold my life up into a little box and take it wherever I go.
I want every day to be a page in a notebook.
I want boxes of cassette tapes with so many pointless conversations.
I remember trying to write a poem about this before...
Not a poem, a song.
Remember The Makeup Monsters?
They played in the basement and we wrote poetry on the stairs.
I want that memory in a little computer chip that I can store.
I want it to be alphabetized.
I want it to go under "H" for "House shows" or maybe "S" for "Stairs."
I want them in filing cabinets and manila folders,
Or maybe I want them in an electronic database.
But mostly I like notebooks,
So notebooks it will be.
With big gaping holes that represent days and weeks and months and years.
And in these holes are millions of memories from filing cabinet folders, lost
Because I am too lazy to write them down.
My hand is cramping
And my eyes are sore.
I've better things to do
And so they are lost.
