dear goody-goody of technical ability
(the stuff that frustrates me),
my resentments are real
but they do not yet run so deep-
they are soundless and still.
as a stillborn baby.
still as a stillborn baby
that you will never see
you close your eyes, both
of them, and do everything in your power
to imagine some happy happy
joy joy shit
and for forever, afterward,
boo fucking boo hoo.
don't get yourself all sad. work yourself
some other way.
i know you can. don't make ambitious
promises. just take
and a running leap.
you are as long as a building, as long
as the river you were riding along
until you were taken from its waves
and raised by people.