"a fresh hand with fresh power"

1. i called a friend of mind at ten-oh-three
and rambled on and on and on,
my neatly stacked thoughts on love
in shambles, yet somehow stronger still
for the thought of a sonogram.
i pressed “end,” and then i saw it:
in the not-so-distant distance
on the underside of a gas station’s
high sanctum, the lights changed
as i drove by, they slipped and slid and shifted angles
and something in my mind untangled
and i thought: revision,–
that’s a apt title
for a modern-day poem on love, is it not?

2. moments later, i thought,
i’ll never remember all that,
and i got right to work
clearing a shelf in my mind
upon which words went,
till they numbered so many
they built up apartments
and charged too-high rent
to new-comers, and dreamed of becoming
old words who spend winters
on paper beaches, down south.


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