The language of feeling has its demands.
The language of feeling is without feeling.
One owing me money punched me
in the jaw and I’m reeling.
I got knocked out outside the beach restaurant,
victim of the booze and the sands.
Hibernation approaches; there was too much desire
and not enough delicacy. I took an ad out for bands.
None wanted me because I only wrote songs
and couldn’t sing or play or show my wares.
That’s my plane. You can only guess where it lands.
The singer songwriter told her audience,
“this is a little of how I’m feeling.”
Feeling is lousy. It never understands.