her eyes were like stars, trembling blue stars

i wonder how we dont destroy ourselves
i wonder why we do


recorded memories
in the future
sometimes we will remember and enjoy.
sometimes we will be confused.


i spent some time tonite sitting next to a woman who was reviewing and commenting on another womans poetry. the reviewer read some of a poem out loud, commented on changing something and then asks the poet if she's been to group therapy yet. because she really should go. the poem was about being beaten. the poet didnt want to talk about it.

the reviewer told the poet using 'north and south' isnt a common dichotomy.

i nearly said something. what business is it of mine?

everyone is serious

so many conversations
about scrambling for
'stability'

i understand.
i am not good.
i am not a destroyer.
i understand.