It had been too long since I paid close attention to myself.

As I sat by the water, small nymphs of some bug pattered down from the leaves above like a soft rain

Kinder to my skin than any water.

A fowl plucks himself, and the littlest spider begins a journey to cross me like my denim is so many stretching lands.

I am interrupting nature as humbly as I can manage, two cigarettes pass and I'm tired of self-ness already

But for a moment? I breathed.

First thing I do is check the date
Good thru two thousand eighty five
Haven't had a can this fresh
Since Calvin Coolidge was alive

You can call it quirkiness
Each time I give the top a thump
Best way to tell if it's perfectly jelled
To the consistency that I love

If you know what I'm taking about
Well right you are and yes I am
That delectable treat of mystery meat
Known around the world as A Can Of Spam

Spam only comes in one savory flavor
King of canned meat there is only one
You remember long after your dining pleasure
By the amount of film left on your tongue

Do as I do and save the lid
A smart move you would be making
Comes in handy after dining
To help along with the tongue scraping

Have you ever witnessed
such flawlessly executed
blissful ignorance?

Who are you, and why
have I brought you here?

13 days--just shy of two weeks;
and here you are.
The paint hasn't dried
the pain
still damp to the touch

Pressing eager fingers
still results in
pretty residue, that
leaves fingerprints on every subsequent touch

And, dry,

Pressing eager fingers
still results in
***** flakes, that
reject fingerprints altogether

So why
have I brought you here?
To watch paint dry?
Leave while it's wet,
save yourself the water
it takes to wash your hands

Save yourself the time
it takes to wash your soul
from the presence of

such flawlessly executed
blissful ignorance.

I don’t know the science
of it,
but I once read
we are made of the stuff of stars.
Their particles are inside
of us,
and essentially, we are
minutely star ourselves,
floating amidst each other.
I wonder which two,
or ten,
celestial bodies above us share
their most intimate bits
with us, and I wonder
when the Universe fates
us to
collide and supernova
in a coruscation of fiery
shards of galaxy,
do so our cousins?
Are the
same astral fragments within
us smashing over our heads,
birthing a divine and
romantic parallel?