nothing ever comes from second guessing,
or so they say,
perhaps you told me once,
but i never listen.
given the opportunity,
i'd walk away from good tips
like a buck-eighty,
not smoking in bed---
i like the smell of singed hair
and library books.
i breathe them in and nothing
is released.
i talk when not talked to,
i watch infomercials,
six easy payments of blank pages
on the left-hand side of notebooks,
because i'm wasteful,
and sometimes i can look past
scribbles, make them into something
someone will wish they said on
a january night.
i know peace as more than a
hand gesture or an unattainable
idea;
i sleep well at night
and it is this that keeps
you awake.
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