Take it. It's yours.

by amy sharp


you can read a poem any old way you want
leaning across a sticky counter
at a desk staring into your computer
in a cold parking lot
after you've torn open an envelope
sitting in your car wondering about
the weather
singing a song
a tiny light shining
reading a word or skipping a line
or thinking you know the secrets 
I wear like beads
whispers
lipstick
you can take apart poems
you can get what you want
but I can only write a poem in this way
pointed
directed
pushed out 
of me
like 
this

take it
it's yours