(2015)
why is nothing i can do now. where it went. what that echo means, if anything
yeah, the contract the social one, so long ago supposedly agreed to, we were born instead into. what
something you need makes you its bitch, yes even as it isn’t coming, no when love stands you up & all the more sweet
i could not conceive of such beauty, it had to hit me like it has. nothing
there are never really any angels in god’s company, it really just pretends them
here’s a story. it may even be true. where i come from nothing ever sucks, so i
I will meet you in the open air, & pet your pony’s nose. You will be
every story, especially those promising finally to grant the square hat with tassels, is a load of shit. the god which
finally, without knowing it was coming, he got to die. it was great. like a birthday party clown, he was equally the center
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
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
if you enjoy this pain, all expressions of it, being here compiled, then, yes enjoy them, but
Fieldwizards and firetops. Wobblybirds on snowflowers. Chilled milk and chowder for the little prince. Mothercake for mumbled thanks.
shut my eyes and squeeze my demand, the point of a spear. what will happen.
we are nearly always a world which almost