The Trouble with Remaining Professional

Because he views speaking as a profession
he tells me, “memorize your piece, paper
shaking between your fingers is distracting…”
he doesn’t know that I seek the distraction
like an ADHD kid ‘stiming’ on moving lights

His profession is my secret garden

The audience’s divided attention makes me less
transparent, the paper my grip on what’s permanent
because motions are as faded as memories and words flee yellowing pages
as the years spin across my chest and I’m caught
standing still again, staring pass the window and the spotlit open mic
at another sun devoured by the oak trees.