(2014)
shall we turn down the covers, crawl inside? find there a place that’s been waiting for us, a vortex of sorts
liking to say things, all kinds of things, mostly about the way things seem
Fieldwizards and firetops. Wobblybirds on snowflowers. Chilled milk and chowder for the little prince. Mothercake for mumbled thanks.
a few hundred million dying days later he emerges into crazy
shut my eyes and squeeze my demand, the point of a spear. what will happen.
lie still. be quiet. please understand what happens so, next time
STEP BACK! There’s an infection you’ll get if you come any closer. It will open your eyes through the crust
yeah, the contract the social one, so long ago supposedly agreed to, we were born instead into. what
man, it’s hard to come down from impossible hopes seemingly
here in the middle of the bottom of the lie how obvious
just listen the trees drink silly.. I work i work that day the not
no means no. no response means no. (everyone knows maybe means nothing
I love how you talk Down to everyone In your poems Which, unlike fiction Are not covered
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
reflecting on the moment before, would be useful only were it not already perfect.
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