If a person is quiet
enough inside,
they might just be
able to catch on to
the table of contents
of what it is
I’m trying to say, to
get to, to put away
before it's way
too late, and I don't
mean to
confuse you,
like before men
could speak,
they enjoyed confusing
one another
with signs,
they enjoyed this
as much as
a mirror enjoys
an image shine,
or the evening,
like a ship, enjoys
a sapphire grave,
but that's not what
I'm trying to do,
I only want you
to hear what I have
to say one more time,
just one more day
before it's weight
becomes way too great.

I stripped the branches,
Debarked the limbs
Like peeling sunburnt skin
On the chest high grassy plains.
There's a nest in the crotch of our tree
With umbilical vines detached and green;
I check to see if my bellybutton
Is missing, just like Eve's.
I see that mine's an Outie,
Still connected to the trees.

Once, there was a fisherman
Who didn’t think he was good enough.
So when he finally caught a fish,
He worried too much and fumbled around
Until he accidentally dropped it
Back into the sea.

The fisherman felt ashamed
That he couldn’t catch his first fish,
So he decided to never go fishing again;
He was full of doubt and regret.

Don’t be like the fisherman;
There are plenty more fish in the sea.

Being loved,
when no one asked,
is a weird feeling.

Sponsor numbers,
and Ibprophen,
reading,
feeding,
what's for breakfast tomorrow?
Hope with a guilty side,
Chinaski hidden in a,
recovery library,
words to the poet,
a secret vice,
are nostalgic tremors,
a giggle for the unknown,
terminal uniqueness,
and a desk map with no ****,
pray for the piggly wiggly roommate,
the hope overpowers the guilt,
and the coffee makes,
me smile,
a good day,
a better,
turn,
click.

I’d like to phone the past
First to Jimmy then to Jim and
Let them know it will be all right

I needn’t correct the past
Nurture shaped nature
And I pleasantly accept present

What matters is the is
What time matters is the now
Moving forward is the how