Writing in Bed

exhaling visible emotion
ink onto page
alive each night if
only for these moments
toes touch sheets happy

the hours before are done
no more plodding through city
streets in laced up leather
free naked now
words moving across the page

composition notebook
indenting with cursive letters
pressing down, scribbled lines
fragments of thought
searching for truth night after night

sometimes finding things
like an old Hot Wheels car in
the sandbox, pull it out
examine chipped paint
try to recall when it was lost

describe what it looks like
loose front tire, red Camaro
“this is it,” I think
to reclaim, touch memory
unearth myself, the buried parts

Meditation Doesn’t Care

Meditation doesn’t care
about the book you wrote
what you posted online
or the car you drive

Meditation doesn’t care
about your rolex or
your job, so important
money made

Meditation doesn’t care
about all your friends
who go to parties
drink martinis

Meditation doesn’t care
about your writing
these words
bits of truth