Never Admit Your Mistakes

I text my yoga teacher: I think I need
to start medication. I meant

meditation, but the subconscious
knows best. I once wrote a whole poem

about the angel of penetration
rather than admit in my haste

I meant angle of penetration.
Either way, a virgin ascends.

I return a can of paint to the store
because I can’t manage any more

pain, I meant paint. I mean pain.
I keep going back for pain samples

I don’t need. I have gallons of different
shades stored in the basement. Enough

for a fresh coat every year. I don’t take
the medication. There’s nothing worse

than a dull coat of pain. I prefer it
bright and sharp.