I hit a deer, its blood drying on me
It wept and cried in agony
It was my fault
I cried with it
I had to do what i took away from it
I had to be strong and live on
I gripped its neck in my hands and twisted it
The twist ended all sadness.
The deer was to be hunted anyways
I think i did it a favor, this world is cruel to deers.

be my therapist

massage both my temples
from whence these poems originate

will your fingertips perform tailored alterations,
will they insert strange spices and your favors,
unfamiliar but imagined overtime desirable flavors,
thus resolving the question that my answers perpetually fail,
to satisfy my unending need to understand:

how do my temples
speed the heart
bring forth whole poem utterances inconceivable,
reminding me to remember what has yet to occur?

she grins, whimsies me and suggests:

that’s why they have been
appointed anointed announced as the
Temples of You

2:19am 2/19/18

I want to Live
somewhere so green
that keeping house plants
would be sarcastic