I don’t want to plan
for the future or what
to have for dinner
I don’t want to keep
anyone happy
I don’t want to think
about a hundred things anymore
my brain like some circus act
that we watch
hoping and not hoping
that it will fall
I want to be like the cat
who stalks the rustle
in the hedge
he is so still I could scream
with envy at that whole life
zipped into hope
that luck chose now
to serve up a bird.