(2014)
being drawn back unlike a bowstring but down and in as water finds the lowest
when (finally) we meet I’m thinking spring wildflowers will bloom on high
nobody goes mad on purpose, also never is it not shared,
Fieldwizards and firetops. Wobblybirds on snowflowers. Chilled milk and chowder for the little prince. Mothercake for mumbled thanks.
every story, especially those promising finally to grant the square hat with tassels, is a load of shit. the god which
like bell bottoms or disco but we need it to think i’m dead
here’s a story. it may even be true. where i come from nothing ever sucks, so i
yeah, the contract the social one, so long ago supposedly agreed to, we were born instead into. what
why is nothing i can do now. where it went. what that echo means, if anything
we were all talking, things taking shape as they do, when someone said, be desireless, like that is at all a thing people
got the sex drive of 15 young bulls, but the women are all scared.
now, I’m no Bukowski but my friends who don’t like poet… except his stuff, tell me they like mine, and I can drink like a drinking machine
so, i’m in this spiritual war. maybe you aren’t, but i am. many great losses
yes, there is a gap between us always has been now it is
a breeze. already know what’s what. shut up. kiss her. shut up...
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