your face is stars dying
as soon as I wish upon them.

lucky men have nothing on me.

happiness has always
been a hallway
to me.

the kind of hallway
where ghosts of dudes
that died of heart attacks
stare at sleeping kids from.

so I'm in a single room
cabin in the middle of nowhere
trying take over a world or two.

no I'm not.
duh.
I ruin more than contrivance,
stay for the encore.
it goes for three forths of my life,
at least.

"you all should place bets"
he says brushing his teeth
in the mirror,
to himself.
weird.

happiness has always
been a hallway to me.

the kind of hallway ghosts
watch little kids sleeping from.

been trying and failing,
for months,
to befriend the crows
that wake me up every morning;
at the core of my being
I am a cruel person.

ive spent 32 years trying not to be.

brittle steel in cheap cheap oil;
I have no idea how to forge anything.
I have no idea about anything
other than my love for you.

crows cawing at my window.

hold up.
not you
whispered
into tin cans,
it slowly grows and
grows.

before it stops;
peep the structure.

first off,
no,
I dont think so.
so slow,
I'm throwing myself off a cliff
in an infinite number of other realities;
it's all gonna be alright.

slipping.

walking to the corner store,
the sky smelled like peppermint in coffee.
I mean,
nothing.

I'm non-local,
slipping temporally,
slipping.
just speak to me sweet;
there is a bird beating it's wings
against my ribs,
dying to escape.

I watched a male cardinal giving
a female a twig in my driveway.

it's gorgeous,
this moment.

slipping.