Barrel

Where dregs of doubt collect like lint 

on a dark sweater

I scrape up bits of pride and inhale

I eat the toxic dust of a missed bus

and the leftover dinner

of reheated confidence and chance

I do not know how I got left back

I will repeat my words from five, seven

years ago

I will write across the chalkboard

for like one thousand times

I will learn to focus

I will focus

I will pay attention

I will pay for attention

How much is it on sale?

Can I get attention second hand?

Can I get it from the news?

Can I get it with the blues?

Does it smell like a freezing night?

Is it a light bulb burning bright?

And in the bottom of barrel

I feel behind in everything

and the sun misses me

My mind is like a core2duo computer on 2002

and my soul recharged  like a light bulb lit by a battery

a wire and six year-old hands

Queen of all trades, master of none

I want to trade my queen

for something else

I want to learn to file my head away

in the shade and go meet the breeze

with Rigor stucks inside my head

I want to surf the bamboo forest

and climb the raging rivers

and awake near rain and fire

I want to burn my file cabinet

my coursework class lists resumes

bill checks stubs clips old books

and mails, my entire computer system

and I might even burn

my old clothes my articles my reviews

headlines ideas clippings workplace

my goddamn rage

and my faith

I want to burn my faith to roll it

and smoke it up; pollute the air

with my good will and sharing

caring for other

unlike me

We would, I believe

get stoned from my ashes

my years of good intention

While guilt fine like the powder

on slopes like ammonia and hard

like a cracked green coconut laced

with white meat and sweet water

I want to list what makes me scream

to purge my paper of greased

diseased pollution

and toxic doublespeak

I want to shut off my ears and eyes

and go inside

to where cells make sense

There is nothing

There is nothing we can do

So we do nothing

And here, in Starbucks corner

sitting on chairs I cannot afford

with people I do not know

And here, in the busiest city in

Indonesia, Jakarta

bathrooms soiled with white power

graffiti and middle class beggars

from Pasar Minggu

I laugh at myself

really

for thinking

that I can make a difference