Face your fears? Not me! 

You’re supposed to. Face all your fears.

Nobody questions it. 

Like this poem, for example;

I’m supposed to read it out loud 

in a month. Well, listen here ...

You can go skydiving, bungee jumping,  
go to endless seminars, webinars, conventions,
self-esteem affirmation confirmation macrame
circles (whew! out of breath), and read all the books.
I've done it, you've done it. (So, maybe I'm wrong.) 

Or, you can sit still. Can you hear it?

Many rooms in your own mansion,
so big in there, so many rooms less musty
than the library. All those rooms, your best friend
in every one of them. 

One of these ways of living,

if it had a smell,

smells like the inside of a K Mart 

underneath overhead 
lighting, dead moth-buzzing. 

The other way smells like 

the outside of a pine forest 
under a blue sky, polar bears still
playing. 

I’m not going to worry anymore. 

I may die with some of my fears intact. 

Anyway, sometimes it’s not fear. 

It’s a choice. And Captain, my Captain
that feels good.  

Anyway, Van Gogh

(Look at all those swirling colors!)

needed external affirmation like he

needed an ear in the head. 

You hear me? 

Baby’s first words

The two year old baby boy rolled by 

like a yellow, blue-eyed tumbleweed of trickery; 
mother looked down

cracked the whip with her eyes, 

made his bed with her voice and said: “MIND!” 

The whip missed 

the bed covers flew off,

he looked up with his two blue two
year old eyes, said: "YES!

I have one. And while I do love you, 

I'm ignoring you!” 

He rolled on and out of sight 

towards his talkative future.