(2014)
Fieldwizards and firetops. Wobblybirds on snowflowers. Chilled milk and chowder for the little prince. Mothercake for mumbled thanks.
something you need makes you its bitch, yes even as it isn’t coming, no when love stands you up & all the more sweet
nobody goes mad on purpose, also never is it not shared,
a breeze. already know what’s what. shut up. kiss her. shut up...
here in the middle of the bottom of the lie how obvious
of the things that make me become better only music is unlike surgery
of course it is not about you. you have to know this, like baby birds know worms come with mother’s return,
oh, and how it gets you these bastard assumptions, one or two commonalities
i could not conceive of such beauty, it had to hit me like it has. nothing
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
excuse me, i thought you were also the center of a fractal
like bell bottoms or disco but we need it to think i’m dead
you are guilty of failing to love and understand me, like a dog is guilty of failing to speak or use
so, i’m in this spiritual war. maybe you aren’t, but i am. many great losses
simply knowing you’re in a maze doesn’t get you out, but the fact is the foundation