poeming on a friday

why this dragon isn't a poem

he's a waterspout
modified to spurt
curling rows of flame.
he's burned his hedge,
curling brown leaves
dead around him.
he's above us all
or thinks he is...
and yet this dragon
is this poem
diving underneath
the melancholy
that can't be said.


But in reality, of course the melancholy can be said. I'm just listening to too many emo songs today. Oy.

I know I know I know, I need to get some more sleep and have a good cry and practice more radical self-care (scheduling a massage). And I haven't finished the task I set myself in the office and that's driving me bonkers. (I know once I get to it, it will go quickly, but it's a matter of getting to it.)

And obviously, I needed to listen to The Lonely Island this morning. Oh yes. And some Jimmy Fallon, too. Yes. Thank you. More.