Oh ****.
Oh no.
I've slipped into a slippery dance with all of the things I've always feared, and all of the things I'll never know,
and I can't tell anymore if it's joy or sadness that causes all these tears,
but it hardly makes a difference, so long as I can still feel this:
a precious presence in the bones;
a song sung by the body that makes me feel not so alone.

I'd kiss you on the forehead.
I'll kiss both of your eyes.
Remembering to feel alive, at least until we one day die.

If I could manipulate time, then I'd put us both in the same instant,
to breath shared air,
if only for a minute.

through the noise and traffic
I fought my way to tonight
like the brash loud car racing
light to light

the crazy race driver on
the public streets
the guy on your
bumper

you can feel him almost cussing away
and honking and in a hurry
that was me
until I got peace

I no longer rev my engine
or try to beat the yellow
I putt-putt
along in the slow lane

now,
wanting to see the leaves of the tree and
all the people and study
what they are doing
in their daily

going on and on,
and the guy with no muffler
now is not me,
the guy has finally won

peace
and contentment
almost walking I am now
and my legs

feet soul are
much better for it.

bodies rise like stars
into heavenly space far,
the rush of love comes

"Hardly the most,"
said the wisp to the ghost,
as they proposed a toast to the end of their days.

"Once lost, twice poisoned,"
lamented the withering roses,
with their thorns pricking those who had given up on their purpose.

Here hangs a garden of all that is worthless,
with tendrils that seek the necks of poor souls.
Drooping from branches like abandoned puppets,
without an audience to take in the show.

Death sows seeds where no plants grow,
but the dead tread there, and they want you to know
that no matter how hard you try, no matter how much you learn;
everything is flammable,
and one day you'll burn.

a dog is a dog
a cat a cat
a bird a bird
human human.

cooler now,we have butter lumps,

goes on the toast in bumps

tweaking the crust.



will we then get thinner,

not die of fats, get ill with

some thing else? it will not

spread.



i have my first new cooker

ever; i shall make bread.



eat with a slice of butter.



there is a fan.



#october.



sbm.

A pea said
To  a bean
Why am i  spherical
And you so long?
Bean said
Both of us will be cooked
So there is no way
But to compromise
With time