Not Enough- FD (first draft)

I don't know enough about the world to write poetry.

I don't know about foreign lands and broken bridges
and the pages of history I never turned in high school-
Maybe I should have turned them.

I don't know all the animals that have sex for fun,
or the ones that don't have sex at all,
all I know is that both of those have described me.

I don't know how to write fiction; I think fiction,
I am fiction--

its potential string of words
grabbing me into a black widow's web,
tantalizing that soon I shall die, or it shall die
Or at least suffer from the slow sting and poison.

I don't know about anaphoras and hyperboles and
all the words we assign to movement trying to explain
the inexplicable quickening heartbeat and waves
of hot blood flooding into our veins as if we suddenly
feel ourselves alive and this is the first time we noticed
all day.

It's lucky if we notice at all.