At the Table

Speeding through impossible bridges

you want to arrive at your

pearly gates premature.

What suffering are you postponing?

Natural talent.

The quick and dirty.

That's fine,

you spoiled child.

Sit at your desk and bleed.

Collect the blood in a bowl

so you can pour it back into your

eye or ear

and try again.

Easy breezy,

instant meal you crave.

But I brought you carrots

to chop with a spoon.

Spend what you have on shoes

you have many miles to walk.

This is not a punishment.

This is liberation.

Choose a well with brackish water

and sift it all day long.

Not happy?

Dig a new well

and try again.

No guarantee the water

will be clear there.

Oh pity me, you say.

My genie is on vacation.

I am at the table.

I want to be here.

Laughing away the numbness.

I bite my lip

to taste the metal lava.

I stare into the sun too long

till black flowers engulf me.

I grab at the hot pot.

I birth my child with legs crossed.

I fall in love with every man

and spend fortunes buying ice

to leave in the sun.

Mining for gold.

Squeezing out the nuggets from the ore.

Sand crunching in my teeth.

Restless energy.

Poor host.

Who wants to visit

someone needy?

I think you like me

when I play hard to get.

When I neglect you.

When I take you for granted.

My ode to inspiration.

I do not search

for the next word.

Piss.

Bandage.

Sorcery.

I don't need you

to make sense.

I just want you to come

play with me.

I like your company

so much.