The Poetry Marathon

I often forget that other people
Do not constantly think about
Bodily orifaces and
Body fluids and
The trials of single motherhood
Mixed with Autism and ADHD and
Whatever other issues are
Rearing their ugliness at my face today.

So when it seems a random
Expletive-ridden vent session,
I have actually
Marinated in these ideas
For days.
Overloaded with so much
Yet still
So little.

I know today is another moment
Another chance to wonder and
Wish and figure out what
Life might be but
I really don’t want to be
Cliche.
So how do I change that?
Find four things and focus.
One.
Two.
Three…

I need another.
Ah, there it is.
Four. The open closet door
Creaks whebever the cat
Claims it as her own.

What is happening to us?
The strange has become familiar
And my thoughts jumble from
Play to work to nothing…
Blankness.

I should have thoughts while my body rests,
Yet this think machine sits idle
Scuffing shoes on the gravel as I
Meander through unimportant tasks and
A soup of tar: thick, sticky,
A permanent stain.

Here we go…
Alarms set.
Clocks set.
Inspiration ready.