Both plastic spoons melted and broke.

You write poems like I do,

no soul for sale

And these vulnerable actions leave me


To forget your name.

I spend the night sleepless

Wake every couple of hours

My body vibrating

My heart returned to its chest

sometime last week

Before the rabbit appeared

Before I sold my car, went to a psychic

And spent some of that money

On these reminders disguised as poems.

If I wasn’t crazy this might feel normal

And exciting……

This vibrating,

not knowing what to do

Breathing magic freely into these meetings of strangers.

Wondering if you really did look at me

As if I would do something right in this world

By getting to know you.