Rest Assured (a poem)

rest assured there’s a box for you
waiting always
or another category for you to try on
perhaps something that might not fit,
a path that does not work,
or only leads you so far before you
start to see its sad disappearance
into the horizon
these markers are again, inevitably, not enough
chalklines on the pavement outlining where the corpus was (it too, to
be taken away, washed by rain)

These categories just don’t fucking fit.
It’s like a tight sweater that you can never quite feel good in - a
trade off between style or comfort.

These categories make things all too easy…