I should get a job

I can’t afford all this
this log palace
this gluten free cereal that costs eight dollars a box
what starving artist can afford cereal that costs eight dollars a box?
I’ll get a job when the words stop I say
But they don’t stop
Every time I have time to pick up a pen
or a keyboard
they do
they harass me
when I seek rest
when I seek food
in conversations
making me abruptly leave
so I can scramble for ink and space
pour it out
scribble it down alone
I just want to sit in my captain chair
with the broken arm I meant to fix
but live with
at dusk and dawn
(when I am awake for dawn)
watch the fields below my cabin light on fire
purple armies of petals
I want to throw my heart at the world
at sunshine, trees, strangers
have room to catch it when it flies back
words are in the rustle of trees
in that piece of wood
there
in the man who I sat on a log and passed the day with today
they are in the hellos with the hummingbird as it zooms
by my balcony each morning
No, words are my job
I guess I’ll have to start eating cheaper cereal.

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Editor: Emily Bartran

Photo: Author’s Own