for poetry,
I can’t give you poetry—I’m
not one of those poets
writing for four hour periods
each morning with
french-pressed coffee

I can’t give you
that will always make sense
and fall into each other with perfect
commas and

I spit these out like juicyfruit—
and they always lose their taste until
ten years later when I can look at them
as sweet children—but that
doesn’t mean
you can ask me for poetry
because it never was
never for you.