Lassitudes

I can’t think of any poetry.

I can’t think of a way to matter.

I can’t think only in spurts of blood.

I can’t think on my feet, but I can on my fingers.

I can’t think about what’s between the lines.

I can’t think of anything but sex.

I can’t think of a better chemistry.

I can’t think through the grinding of my teeth.

I can’t think without the proper precautions.

I can’t think along the spectrum.

I can’t think in my own words.

I can’t think my way out of a wet paper bag.

-r. miller