The gazpacho in Mom’s ladle went bad, expiration mid-June.

Five zero two, a place of transitions, one game to another.

*** (Amsterdam)
Bike locks tangled, emotions bleeding, living
filling up empty cups of espresso.

Next, today,
Rainy morning and dull thoughts,
Late August eggs, juicy, and hot coffee.
I added water to taste, no sugar.

We drove on the water around on the water in a Ferry on the water last night, still
Raining on the water, like today, off and on, back
And forth on the water, to and from Italy, up to
Switzerland on the water, changing language and tongue, even toe,
Growing smarter with each change in tide on the water until the wine
Loosened us lighter, water melted to light, envy
Melted to laughter and song and gold.

We drove around in a Ferry on the water last night, still
Raining like today, off and on, back
And forth on the water, to and from Italy, up to
Switzerland, changing language and tongue, even toe,
Growing smarter with each change in tide until the wine
Loosened us lighter, water melted to light, envy
Melted to laughter and song and gold.

Dang it, how I think about you
some seventeen months later.
Drinking helped, made it worse.
Writing heals, made things worse.
Sewing hasn't mended, just poor.
Leaving town hurt, made better, than worse.

It’s me and my internal ancestors retying the string that were supposed to stay snapped!
Genetically, I can’t let you go
but I YARN TO.

Losing against ideaphoria?
Let’s see
John Jacob Jingleheimer *******br>And Roommate Louisa, Tuesday around 11:15 am,
After one chug of cold coffee.
New dog enters, socks are found,
Ski socks. It’s July.
John Jacob to the Muffin Man tune, pastries baked,
along with other assorted goods,
An empty box of Rice Krispies.
***** on the floor, clean in hamper, still hot.
I’ll wait till they’re cold and wrinkled to put away,
You’re welcome, robot.
Chat GPT opened in tabs, unwelcomed, but my relationship with my father is still
Complicated, so it will just sit there, no fun for you, robot.
Spam calls are all I get these days, a few texts.
Campaigns for creamier milk, softer abuse, rougher hair care routines.
You know what they say, Extra Creamy Means Endless Possibilities.
Take that one apart: Invisible lattes? Extraterrestrial cappuccinos?
Slavic milk pudding.
Gibberish. What a mindless rescue.

Waiting is stupid
Wanting is dumb
I wish when I was little
I ****** on my thumb

Maybe my kid will
She'll be beautiful
Already here, in my tummy
Not to say I’m with child
But she's one good **** away
From the light of day

I’ll teach her colors to name
And birds to watch
Summer comes and goes
But salmon mostly try to swim upstream
I'll tell her that too, in case
She wants to get matching tattoos.

For the record, mine is a trout
His name is Hawkeye though he really only has
a good view of the middle of my ribcage
(Forgot to tell the artist to face him towards the outside world,
Now he is forever looking inside of me.
Forever watching over my children and my liver,
Keeping tabs on them for the day I give life or get death.)

Wet rings slipping from fingers
T-shirt's heavy and stuck, down with womanhood
We’re boy, carefree, simple,  
Laughs natural to the eye
Silhouettes blocky, unlike a glass of wine
Unlike a kind of fruit
If only clothes could free us
Draped by wet silkworms holding up our insides
The summer rain holding us free
And setting us captive.

Listening to Pink Floyd after getting in the wrong uber: In the Flesh?
What a silly thing, the places we go and the people we see
We resolve to drink more, exercise less, complain to all high heavens
Flip it and pound it from behind
That'll teach us