a poem a day for a year # 149

I think some people become poets
to retell the mythology of their fractured family tree
to find a shape to push the past into
a bucket 
a bowl
a highball glass in the sun
to become an image junkie
a word slut
some powerful Jedi force
able to knock you across the world
with just a few lines
the punch in the gut agility that we all want
like afternoon sex
god just give it to me again
just make me feel that way again
say it for me
type it up
put it in a book
I will hold it against my fevered body
let me read it
let me cry
we all fall down