“Into the nothingness of scorn and noise”—John Clare

To be clear

I’m not saving anyone today

because to be a savior

I’d need an orange

life preserver, and I don’t

have an orange

life preserver or an orange

from Florida or a lovely

fruit of light     I don’t

even have any light

because—no real window

in this basement—it’s glass block—

but more importantly it’s 4:45 am

so still dark, and I’ve been awake

since 2:45 thinking about what to say

and what not to to my classes

to my friends to my daughter, my wife—

and not because I have anything

special to say or something to confess

but because sometimes I like to be

part of the larger community

of grasshoppers spitting

their brown chew juice and blurring

their black indecipherable wings    At least

I think they have wings

or maybe just legs

like the bottom part

of a mannequin

with a couple beers

sweating on it, like it’s a table

for two, but the people

left in a hurry having better things to do

than being part of this poem

I get it    I’m always writing poems

and sometimes people—

and by people I mean you—

just don’t have time

to be in them    Anyway,

that’s why you’re not in this one,

except you are, except

you aren’t      But

whatever you’re doing instead

I hope you’ll keep me in mind

I’m worried that my worriedness

is cause for alarm

A colorful insect just bit me

on the arm     There’s no fucking way

I’m going down with this ship

I might need some help

boring out my boring heart