i learn to learn to walk in circles
but bigger every time
going around and outside of myself
but returning to you, and those
i have loved once, and

i drag my foot in the sand and
it covers the raw ginger root feelings
i smash them and turn them into
something useful, and kind

bears all the way (go) down

I find myself under
sedentary layer
of bear
of hairy hairs, grunts and glances
spanning time, and overlapping.

they squeeze me tight
they rip a fart
they sip a bong
they like my art.

they say they do, at any rate
unlike these words
sweet bears are great.

grumpy cafe

let's wonder what I'm doing
or
not think of anything at all

blushing over feelings a decade old,
old friends and lovers, but newness
in a never sleeping city.

no one moves on from me, to
happier things.

am I a destroyer, destruction mother? or,
the light in a sea
of frowns and seeming dead beings?

we are the broken people we
feared we would split into,
circling dustpans and junk yards
too small to hold the pieces of
our hearts.

the old trope of wishing wholeness
but being a bag of bird bones, only
hollow thrush garbles and air where
marrow once was.

god doesn't care about your plans or expectations because he's busy being in every thing and the space between the things also

some days are full of flaky boys
and stale joint pot smoke
smokey cars with
soggy parking ticket floors and
peanut butter jars of coffee
spilling all up into bags

no amount of rags
or baths
or sad dad jokes
or cosmic maths
can just undo
the day that's done

but weeks were fated
to be won

here we go again

Death comes in
uninvited
just in case
you need reminding

your plans, they are
contingent, all.
Death can pause
whispers,whims,
 can give bad cause
or none at all.

define sublime

oh these old things?

looking back at these old things

i learn i live in melancholy 

and if you were here 

i would see you moving past

sad at such a fast pace

on to the next thing always

and feel inspired

or at least, better

or at least, feel

more than your ghost

trust crush

somethin' ta tell ya

barbarella babes
not liberated, just born free
there seems to be a wee difference
how i wish you stayed
to pluck the laurels with me
from my big baby head,
i wished to present, all deference

hair dye and crackers

cheap thrills and luxury comforts
swirling to the same
green blue purple spiral,
i'll be down in crown
triumphant thumbprint

this association, disassociations
sincerity, sarcasm
all falling in on itself
and folding down
I'm(?) bowling over

alright, maybe this time
i won't fall into the same
habits, assigning meaning.
accept the good things

and still my breath on
simpler slits
like your kind eyelids or
warmer nights

even if it's
only this night

make me laugh

winter air here is a sad clown
it will take great greatness

hogtie me up
grease me down
and make both hands the
clawhammer, for my scared sake

if that's what it takes
after measures
so extreme being taken
he denies feeling broken

i hazard laughter