you’ve got to stop me, I’m out of control
but mature, so every step I take
counts.
—John Ashbery
I don’t know what all I have on me
nor why. By that same token, I have
no idea which pages I should rip out,
and which I should matte, frame
and hang on the wall. Or I’m guessing.
Yes, in case you were unable to guess,
it’s election day again. Tonight, I plan
to read forever to the man I married
while he paints his homework. Which
amounts to somewhere near seventeen
sonnets, total. I call the whole thing
Ambition. Meanwhile, I continue
pasting old photographs of myself
into various collected works which
I find on the shelves of the university
library. Particularly the older ones
that look practically new.
