I’m scared enough of my thoughts,
That I scroll Twitter to mask them,
Even on the subway ride to stillness.
I’ll be the first portrait in William’s Manhattan studio.
It’s not stillness that scares me.
I’d write poems on the subway,
If I trusted they wouldn’t disappoint me,
Achieve enlightenment, if it couldn’t disappoint.
When I’m disappointed, sent home
Because the studio is locked, I’m fine, but
I’m often not strong enough to get on the subway,
Knowing the studio really might be locked.
Ivy grows in tendrils over the sidewalk,
Already disappointed, beautiful, lonely in the city,
Imagining fertile ground,
But rooted here.
Do I appreciate the subway enough?
The many maybe locked doors I’m navigating?
Am I disappointed enough,
To know I tried?
Disappointed Enough
It has been five minutes. Thank you ever so bever so much.