the anatomy of creation

the anatomy of creation

It’s like a stranger

who knocks on your door,

a gentlemen 

you invite her in,

the kitchen,

the bedroom,

and back again;

she refuses a drink,

but says goodbye

and you never hear from her again.

Or it’s the courage it takes

to write one page after another

on successive lunch breaks

at midnight

because you’ve moved 

half-way across the country at 28

which any sane person

would think was too late

and to still dream at an age 

when everyone else has settled into the same 

is like an illness

mental or not,

but definitely crazy to think 

that you could actually change tomorrow 

by what you do today.

But, 

I’ve heard that a man will reap

what he sows,

how come though 

half the time 

it’s not how hard you work,

but who you know?

Pero is different than perro,

a Spanish distinction between 

bitch and please

or is more like, 

“Bitch, please?”

A cowboy of ideas,

making rope 

out of hope,

a lasso around the word no,

riding along 

wrangling in what I can,

but when I lead my horse to water

why doesn’t this fucking thing drink? 

The idea of poverty 

doesn’t only have a home 

in the ghetto,

but it takes truth to know

that low rent 

is a mindset

not a discount 

on a month to month one bedroom 

North of Ocean,

but still South of Seventh.

If you know, you know.

A man making excuses 

and if I hear him

say one more time that he can’t

then I’m gonna give up

not only on him,

but on ever hoping to change this world

and focus back in on myself

working to see 

if I can out write that book on my shelf.

An Iphone screen time report,

flip the phone back over

thinking that such a state 

of mind

is beyond surprise

and can be seen in a sunrise 

from a highrise;

a hotel 

I’ll just stay right here,

a bathtub shower, a workout, and a beer.

Which book will it be?