Where dregs of doubt collect like lintÂ
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
