Put these aspirations back in
Let them tumble some more
The dampness will decay them
They’ll fold wrinkled,
Remain in a closet with the
Basketball cards and blank tapes
That I recorded the worst songs onto.
And my childhood dreams, beautiful and
Completely unrealistic.
But they remain unshattered
Tethered to the person I became
Lingering like pink eye
Waking up with my eyes
Crusted shut.

Sometimes I think teachers
Insist never to end a sentence
With a preposition because
They don’t want to be told
“Shut up.” Sometimes rules
are created out of insecurity
Sometimes we don’t completely
Understand why we do things
But we do them nonetheless.

So put these aspirations back in.
Tumble on high heat. Bundle them
To our bodies, brooding the possibilities
Maybe they will be ready in the morning