Jen Wentlandt

Poem 

I am not writing a poem

I cannot write a poem

The best I can do is attempted poeming

Where sentences are senseless

Just like real life

All I can do is try to grab at a word 

Like that glass box they blow air into at the pizza arcade 

Scraps fly past my ears and it’s all noise and rushing

I come out panting with a handful of crushed verbs and nouns