this isn't writing

i am drawn to icelandic culture
flat surfaces
cold coffee
the suffocating oxygen of pine needles
and earth tones.

adjectives do not adequately define a person
but lists help.

from the wigwam

i wonder what bowie says
about postmodern love.
about the instantaneous love letters
and one's ability to ignore them.
of nights spent looking at an electric box
hoping for a light to show
that a lover has returned
from a treacherous night upon the sea of dive bars.

i wonder what he says about the secret cigarettes
and numb-lipped kisses
stolen by a lakeside.
infidelity is not unique to the postmodern
but for the first time
we hope the cuckold will find out
through someone else.

i wonder what bowie would say,
with his garish highlights & electric tongue,
about the love i see around me
and if it's even love at all.

i am not in love;
i can't pretend to believe in definitions.