Even when you've scratched
the road signs new names
Or burned a letter jacket
Due diligence still needs be due
Characters can alight in trees
But eveningsong doesn't write poetry
Poetry writes poetry, coming back
tanned vacation-certain(ly).
Your baby fever is my fasting period
when I imagine limiting my flagrant life
The baby is a synonym for care
and care is the product of wisdom
which I have precious little of.
A trenchcoat of gremlins
makes up my body: too babyish,
no satisfying whole parent package
Although that is really
an image of perfection
which neither of us had (nor needed?)
and is a synonym for retreat from pain
Care is the relief of pain by the use of wisdom
which makes me certain(ly)
The pause during sex as I try to parse
your facial expressions before asking "is this OK?"
The baby should be diligent. It might be
an asshole, which would reflect badly for
all humanity, since what if aliens came and
the baby was rude? Humanity would accuse us
of being poor parents. That would be pain.
The shock of stubbing a toe and being
reminded that your body has a finite edge
and you are overstepping it! Police yourself.
Care also implies awareness, the application
of wisdom over the environment. This means
I am unaware, for the most part
my environment is curated precisely.
Men at work are vacationers
they live on islands certain(ly).
Really all people, there's no need to restrict
to men, a stupidly vague term.
The work produces experience,
IF you take care (don't screw up)
which is the patience of wisdom.
See how it makes a lullaby?
Diligent characters, birds maybe,
build nests and prepare through their work
rather than concentrating on eveningsong
If you stay up all night singing, good luck
getting worms in the morning.
The freshest produce is a matter of opinion
For the time being I can eat spoiled stuff
And practice wisdom.
