I think I might write a sonnet

I think I might write a sonnet

I think I write poetry &

I think (or pretend) it’s a profession

I don’t think the poem can consent to being written

I think I’m Nobody too — My Nothingness is blue

I think the things we think are only thoughts, thinking

I think I might be vacillating too quickly dizzy

I think I sit under the sky at all times

I think I want to live a life of anonymity

I think I condense carbon-based chaos into characters

I think if my mind continues churning,

I think my brain will become butter

I think I exist to answer emails

I know I prefer the oxford comma

I’m thinking Dimmi qualcosa che non so