By saying “I”

I don’t know why I need to start a verse
by saying “I”,
it is like saying “Yo” en español every time,
it doesn’t look good in a piece of paper.
A book for lords in the park, “I” found it on the old bench:
“I” have to seat there with myself
and articulate my skinny bones
whether the weather was predicted to be bad.
“I” wake up every morning with the same state of mind,
words, words and more words—
“I” personally, “I” stand for wordy worlds—
My concentration room hears me reading about
Borders & Diasporas
Why “I” have to quite playing my Roland Juno-6.
Jose Emilio Pacheco died
365 and 1/2 days ago. But, every day a poet dies.
None of us are dangerous or angry,
we write poems not because we want to be poets
but because we’d lived in a melancholy march in March.
Breathing. In heaven for unreal
travels to the moon, no one can listen “you” cry like an adult.
“You” sound like a superior command from an invisible source.
“I” miss my muse. The tune of A 440 Hz,
“I” miss my muse. To detune the melody to A 432 Hz,
“I” miss my muse. A white noise composition,
“I” miss my muse. The song of the soul.
“I” miss to sing. My rock & roll lyrics,
“I” miss to sing. Karaoke in a bar.
“I” miss to read. Poetry books,
“I” miss to read. My own poems.
“I” miss you.

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