she wonders whether,
she ever will be able to write a poem
that is not about her
that has got nothing to do with her
it strikes her that
she has never written a poem
when she is sad...
she has written poems, also many sad poems
only when she is happy
happy with condescension
when she has heard girlfriends bitching about boyfriends on phone in public transport buses,
happy with tears in her eyes
when she has heard Mazzy Star, read Murakami, watched Ghatak
she writes poetry only because she has a blog -- her self-flagellating moment;
she writes poetry because she enters ennui and has a feel for the texture of metaphors -- more forgiving;
she writes poetry because she wants to be read by a boy in Romania under a mulberry tree -- day-dreams;
she writes poetry because she cannot travel, because she does not have a car -- pity;
'she' writes poetry because she wants to be 'he' for those two minutes -- what kind of travel is that?
For Müller and Flaubert
