I’m working on my next book, with a growing stack of final poems, and a growing burn pile of former versions of those poems in process. As Bradbury famously said, “It was a pleasure to burn.” Step by step now,…
10 8 2016
I’m going to let her go.
I’m going to cry in my sleep tonight.
I’m going to hold a sip of bourbon
in my mouth until my tongue goes numb.
I’m going to remember again how he disappeared
after he said: I want everything with you.
I’m going to ask god, when I see her,
to explain all of it to me.
I’m going to buy a new pair of boots, soon.
And then I’m going to burn these and the
memory of the road that brought me here.
I’m going to recall the photo of his hand
around her waist, even when I don’t want to.
I’m going to cut all of my hair off and
leave it to the wind.
I’m going to kiss him until his throat aches.
I’m going to drive a highway through yet another
desert and ask myself why I have lived for so
many years away from the ocean.
I’m going to sing a morning prayer as the sun sets.
I’m going to invoke the voice of water to put out
all of the ways I have burned inside of me.
I’m going to finally look into his eyes unguarded.
I’m going to hold her hand as she leaves us.
And then I’m going to let go.