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.