(2014)
bring me things to break myself upon till
why is nothing i can do now. where it went. what that echo means, if anything
Fieldwizards and firetops. Wobblybirds on snowflowers. Chilled milk and chowder for the little prince. Mothercake for mumbled thanks.
liking to say things, all kinds of things, mostly about the way things seem
shut my eyes and squeeze my demand, the point of a spear. what will happen.
every story, especially those promising finally to grant the square hat with tassels, is a load of shit. the god which
my spirit sings to you, clears and quickens. losing you is impossible
was all stupid. you weren’t that entertaining. i find it all only sad now, that
man, it’s hard to come down from impossible hopes seemingly
here’s a story. it may even be true. where i come from nothing ever sucks, so i
let’s put all the stupid things in a pile and call them “love” or “worry” or
no means no. no response means no. (everyone knows maybe means nothing
this being we are, delights in all things, yes but is held breathless
nobody goes mad on purpose, also never is it not shared,
people, mostly all barely beyond apes, cannot be trusted. they are incapable of caring