i keep finding tens--
dimes every time i look down,
and a ten dollar bill near the bus stop on the ground.
ones and zeros at my feet--
I am Bo Peep of the real world,
a human video game for the spirits, perhaps.
Change, are you keen to kick my ass?
it gets harder to get up again, each time.
Goddess bless Aleve, and my Catholic notion that I must somehow have it coming.
tens, made of beginnings and ciphers.
everything is nothing is everything.
Buddha, go away, I don't like men very much, especially not cagey ones.
does nobody just say what they mean anymore?
what's with all these dimes?
how much coffee can i drink, trying to give my lips something to do?
Franklin Roosevelt is my distant familial relative.
i've been to Hyde Park and felt the soul tree shake.
it grows again, here, dropping dimes, and i say caller, caller are you there?
Alexander Hamilton doesn't ring any bells for me--
he must not have been an altar boy,
and anyway, i never go to Mass, or meetings, anymore.
i'm tired. i'm getting old.
all i wanted was someone close at hand to write for,
but everything is nothing is everything seems out of reach.
i have felt this way before, and then something new opened up ahead.
i don't believe it very much anymore, but though i'm feeling lost, and stuck,
i am Bo peep of the real world, and i
keep finding change.