hang it up to cure

I forgot how old I was last week

and then I was reminded

a year older than I thought

but supposedly still young

my back hurts everyday

my knee can’t stay in one place for a sit

(because ouch!)

I lost a year yesterday

I’d kept it in my bottle of hope

but life steals itself

and I couldn’t make my hope big enough to forever

the grain puttered out in a straight year

or a week

or in the moment

forget it

sometimes I think we have to do things our own way

and everyone shouts about confusion

they want the wheels to turn

we put our babies and villains to sleep by swinging

how times do change 

until they agree that there is art in the void

its then

the art seeps out the cracks in our joy

Like drips down our chin and smoke out our nostrils

we have to soak in it

Pickle

or else we’d realize we were only shriveled

people shout when they realize they are smaller than they conceived

art in the void

but no art making