Confessions

I was not an infant in a wicker basket.
I was not a victim of the 80’s.
I paid no attention then.
I was teenage nihilist raging 
into the boundless blindness of childhood.
The blank space between vermillion cliffs. 
Persian Gulf is only words to me.
Never did learn the value of a dollar. Only that it keeps changing.
Never minded jail. Not really. 
Still a bit of the nihilist lives in my heart.
I care! I do care. I confess
I don’t believe in love. Not like I’m meant to.
I wonder about heartbreak. 
What is that stuff on the fork I took from the dishwasher?
I ran them with the most expensive detergent.
1-6 lives in my mind. I remember where I was on 9-11.
My 18th birthday was 9-26. Same year.
I enlisted. I was denied. I was a twentysomething Anarchist 
I believed in inside jobs. I believed in secrets. 
I still don’t mind jail. Not really. 
I fuck. It’s become a problem. Therapy helps.
I learned about sonnets from Gwendolyn Brooks,
I don’t know if she ever wrote sonnets. Ted Berrigan did. 
I can’t understand them. I say I’ve read Dream Songs
I never did. A buried piece of me thinks
poets are gay and suicidal. I’m a fourtyearold socialist.
I think trans kids should read books about Latinx struggle
#inschooldistrictswheregunsarebanned.
I only registered Dem to vote for Bernie. My wife votes for me. 
Meaning I give her my ballot.
I don’t think people are as divided as it seems.
I think America should ban punditry.
I quit drinking. My prescriptions do the job now. 
My thoughts are all over the place. 
I do believe in Love. I don’t mind jail.
I wish I was smart enough to heal us. 
I know I’m only smart enough to watch us be taken by sides. 
I do weep for the taken.

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