(2014)
liking to say things, all kinds of things, mostly about the way things seem
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
first fruits hardly a handful, the garden
people, mostly all barely beyond apes, cannot be trusted. they are incapable of caring
the conquering child turns 50, gets the gag out its mouth, says here i am. let’s play now
dopplergangers in case you both explode, who knows it could happen, true love too qui… like a limerick, obvious stupid si… like things aren’t. also, angular
something you need makes you its bitch, yes even as it isn’t coming, no when love stands you up & all the more sweet
being drawn back unlike a bowstring but down and in as water finds the lowest
if i stub my fucking toe it’s their fault so say i, and who could argue? you almost
I just felt what I think I’ll feel always, once we’ve finally met, and share this cool space, like an open secr… It felt like all my favorite songs…
the center holds itself still that rockets believably may be seen exploding in all directions from somewhere vaguely
oh, and how it gets you these bastard assumptions, one or two commonalities
no means no. no response means no. (everyone knows maybe means nothing
so, i’m in this spiritual war. maybe you aren’t, but i am. many great losses
Fieldwizards and firetops. Wobblybirds on snowflowers. Chilled milk and chowder for the little prince. Mothercake for mumbled thanks.