for lars palm

perhaps i'm not back to full speed after last week's blaze of activities

perhaps it is the weather cuz it's been hot and humid i don't do well in humidity

perhaps it is the lack of fudge in my diet

perhaps my homegrown cure of an extra dessert and more chips isn't working

perhaps it is an addiction to netflix and watching lovely crappy movies one after another

perhaps it is because i have bought stacks of books and read them until my eyeballs fall out

perhaps when i think of poetry i am inadequate to its task but then i think all poetry is just words

perhaps long walks in my beloved city to and from work are not clearing my head

perhaps i use the word 'i' too many times

perhaps the long stare into the future looks bleak as hell

perhaps my theme song vacillates between 'sex dwarf' by soft cell and 'lust for life' by iggy pop

perhaps i feel guilt for not writing enough to and for my brothers and sisters in the art

perhaps my dead eye stare is saved for late nights

perhaps i need to learn again the great gift of a fully belly laugh

perhaps my kitchen sink buddhism does not include the kitchen sink

perhaps i should dye my hair but let everyone know that i dye my hair

perhaps i need to give more hugs

perhaps i need to look into the mirror and perfect my sneer

perhaps i know too damn well my impermanence and flux

perhaps i know when i am here and you are there i am astonished at the wonder of presence