from “$50,000”

By - Dec 4, 2017




Words present us with little pictures of things




So how is it possible to mean anything you say




I feel like a circle: perfect in theory and impossible in reality




The days keep getting shorter and shorter




While the names of the months get longer




The cat looks out the window




The universe vibrates at B-flat




Time disappears into the seams of being




I glide like Gumby through the office




And pretty soon this too will be a memory




Mike Tyson: “I’m always quoting my heroes, it’s never me talking”




Mike Tyson: “I want his heart—I want to eat his children—Praise be to Allah”




Ted Berrigan: “I like credit cards”




Something crawls across my floor




My door makes a sad noise




It’s what no one knows about you that allows you to know yourself




Allen Iverson stepping over Tyrone Lue




But this isn’t a poem with an answer




It’s about the fractal nature of money




The space between voids




Grey light on even greyer stones




More pigeon than dove




But some dove




The courtyard is silent




The sound of your own blood circulating




The night is cold and our passion for living is not well understood




My mind is tiny—I don’t care




I’m tired of comparisons




I get off the train and walk in the wrong direction




Trees rustle above my head




The entire office buzzing with Amber Alerts




They fired Scott




They fired Alex




Now I’m emailing someone named Michael Jordan




Dear Michael Jordan,




My name is Andrew Weatherhead




I feel like a standardized test




Every Friday I’m asked “what are you doing this weekend”




And every Monday I’m asked “what did you do this weekend”




It’s Thursday




A baby just walked past my cubicle




Writing poetry is easy