One time I wrote a poem that looked really weird
It looked like a scrabble board would
If I were playing against you and losing by three hundred or something
Because I’d just mix up all the tiles then, and
You’d be angry but you’d laugh and that would be fun
This other time you had The Paris Review anthology
And you were looking for a poem about boats to show me
And I pointed at a poem that looked weird
And I said, I hate it when they do that
And you said, I don’t, I think it’s pretty
Another time I was thinking about you
And I was thinking that you think that weird poems are pretty
And I think that you are pretty
I was thinking that there was something there, in that thought
Some sort of connection that was completely free of bullshit, finally
