This Is a Poem I Wrote, If You Wanted To Know What Was New With Me.

let me explain
what I mean when I say
that I feel these days like I have found my voice,
or a voice that could be
mine, for now.

the way in which these things are said
gives me great comfort
a feeling of well-being
because something is wrong
inside my brain
that causes me to feel this way.

I have images still,
and know about the crumpled flyer
for the happy hour special
with the chewing gun wadded inside its folds
resting between two rails
on the gutter
grate
in the lamp-light that hums
loud enough to hear from one block away

it is impossible
that I have forgotten
the sound of the water as it moves under the rocks
and over the rocks
past low hanging trees
bowing down to dip their branches in
and cool their trunks

all of this remains,
but it is like
a tightly wound box now
and it is harder to find space
for such large pieces