"dart"

raindrop ideas slide down my nose
and neck, are shrugged off, and
disappear

they pelt my head with such
force that they shatter, like glass,
they scatter to the wind like chaff,
to the world's four dusty corners

i need to carry a notebook
or a tiny tape recorder,
like the kind spies use in movies
to catch secret bits of
information

because i have thoughts, these
thoughts, these ideas like
darts whizzing past, glancing
off my chin, grazing my
earlobes, so close i can nearly
hear them

it would be more constructive to
write them down and use them,
like real writers do (I'm told),
and one day while reading at NYU
to say, "i first got the idea for
this poem" and so and so and so

but at least it's reassuring that
they still whiz past, still prick
me like arrows, still draw blood and
remind me that i can still feel

(i learned that if you hit
a statue with a brick, it won't
say ouch, or flinch.)