The Brooklyn Rail

This morning they released my head

from the closet where the university

stores last century’s computers

lesson books proven wrong

I am told I have become a gas station

in a city powered by electric cars

an overdue library card

You are born

        shoulders

                tears

                        clocks

You learn different ways

you are unnecessary

You don’t need to memorize them

I have told my head

is being moved

to a better location

being introduced into

warm, welcoming environs

I can sing

as much

as I want

I have been told

this is what

it was like for poets

in an earlier time

Now it is different

I am told

Now it is better