I Have Poems

I have poems that would rather sleep with women than be written down, that stumble round in unmade rooms, unwashed & unafraid - poems in search of tongues that have no answers to the world’s problems and don’t pretend to, that have no tips about what to do in Fukushima other than dance the night away - poems with scars that desire touch, having spent themselves in the company of the deaf, craving love & death with equal breaths, between a gasping nakedness that knows its place and the price you pay for loving much and too unwisely. I have poems that left home years ago without so much as a phone call or fax, huddled in the eternity of a Tuscan train, watching, unnoticed, as the visiting soloist practices Brahms, dreaming as the carriage rocks, her fingers dancing on the fret-less case.