sunrise
and sunset
are waiting
for you
to forgive

tulips
have bloomed
in spring

but still
the smoke
of cigarette
that lingers
in your breath
and half-empty
glass of whiskey
know

you're hiding
a ton of pain

build your defenses
as infrangible as

great wall of china
along the himalayan
mountain range

𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘪 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦
𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘭𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘴

if you hate
𝘣𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘴,
𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴
and 𝘣𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘴,
then you are
not ready
to have 𝘱𝘦𝘵𝘴
in your life

for sleep reasons
all seasons atrophy
half a mile
is more like
an inch of marathon
and twice deep.
keep demons hooked
on your books
but read into it.
caterwaul by proxy.
true things only.
got this.
Lie in the cut
and heal it.

for sleep reasons

Awoke.

how do
i cure
my depression:

𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘥𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘬

lighten the load
of your luggage
of insecurities

The Oklahoma beach is a creek.
with crawdads and snapping turtles
hissing at a Halen Van, parked on a soft curb
in the sticks, full of too much fun
and an off-road.

too few ***** toads
and scissortail’s
to remember
both

Brigadoon Ex-con.
Carefully culling the Word
From the Wrong one.
Keeping it Real
Til a dream suffice.
Melting the Ice
of a Heart Spot.
where something
got lost…

Exactly where you kept your Dumb At.

So Long Live the very
best thing
that you’re good
at.

wake up every day. On Deck.
yawn at dawn.
ain’t said **** -
Still, put a fool in Check.
lick my lips where
the Morning Moon
left lipstick.
I wink,
Then It’s On -
to the Next-Extraterrestrial.
I pack Light
when a Knife Fight
is one of the
Variables.
Can’t be Seen
At the Scene.
But “ Not Be Heard? “
Unbearable!

Whatever Wit
you’re with
is stitched to the roof
of your spit.
Wish varmints
tipping hats
at a Bar mitzvah
tripping over
Ambercrombie
till a Finch slapped
and a beak hit’cha.
can’t fit my flow
in your creek
then let your
******.

Lost in the midst of oblivion,
writings on the walls
are depiction of excruciation
I condoned,
with this question
clawing on my tongue:

"𝘐𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘯
𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘴,
𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘢𝘭𝘷𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯?"

The devil in my mirrors
has its beguiling wings,
now slowly burning
for I found my angel.

sitting in the chair by the window. very tweed.
tamping a pipe that’s just a pipe. orange rind
for a sun. heavy lids dazed by dim delusions.
swimming in a sea of profound sitting. urchin
in a tidepool of earnest journals and pressed
flowers.

the kind of flowers that never forget to stay.