Why I Can’t Stop Writing Poetry

Ian Walters

lately my thoughts have been very sharp
like zippers or new carpet
or wearing the right amount of warm clothing
their edges set me down and lay me out
I step from one to the next
and I know each time where my foot will land.
when I can’t think anymore
they close me off, turn the lock, switch on the heat
and I sit down and start eating, maybe
or tuck in and let my eyes rest

but outside, it seems
the trees are all getting naked
and their socks are running away with each other
kissing and dancing and rubbing up against the glass
from side to side they move together
and for a moment, I feel as though I’m underwater

when a brightly dressed girl floats past
with cold skin and chic yellow boots
she looks worried and focused
and there are little holes in her stockings