It’s one of those messy days
When nothing is quite right nor wrong
But ain’t life just a bundle of a lot of those messy days

my love, daily,
my daily bread,
falls on my
buttered-side
down daily

my love, daily
my daily dish,
pour over my
flimsy flats
for that I wish, daily

my love, daily,
my daily dial,
pick me mine
pricked up ears
the line is deaf, daily

Looking down
A spent ******
On the ground,
*******.
Giving appropriate gut
Reaction of disgust;
Lewd
Youths can’t control their lust.
As you consider the preface to
Your dawn discovery
(Made on your everyday
Medial life constitutional).
You remember
Two lovers who
Were careless -
Because young love always is.

...that most people do

...wake up
...go to work
...think of you

...sit at desk
...listen to music
...think of you

...go home
...sleep
...think of you

...please take notice
...i’m thinking of you

We talk in spoons. It’s an alchemy of sorts, though we don’t seek gold or eternal youth. A whole world of research says this curse is real. Yet Medicine has Science bound and starved. We resort to picking the threads of work that we find, weave from it our spells and our hope. Pin to it her everyday dreams. And though they are flimsy her dreams are beautiful simplicity: A five minute walk, or fifteen sat on the beach. A trip out, but maybe stay in the car. Ten minutes looking at clothes online, or coming downstairs if the windows are shut and we close the blinds. It is all connected, strung together like beads. If she showers today, she can’t go for a walk ‘til next week. She stretches too far then I worry she’ll ping, and I don’t know if I could string her together again. For now some dreams are too heavy. She’s removed them, hidden them like treasure. She brings them out when she can. Handles them, turns them to see if they shine in the gloom. These dreams are more prone to fracture, to shatter at a set time.

from above
backlit waves
of plastic

“Aren’t we just like curtains?” I say
“How?” you ask

Well, curtains
We never really appreciate them
Until they’re gone
Not until we feel the bustling heat
Penetrate our skins during summer
Or when we can no longer hide ourselves
From the light and the world around us
When we’re already too tired to deal
With anyone, really
Because we took off
Those **** curtains

We speak of lines that spell diamonds
Majestic cars and palaces
But we fail to realize how this ordinary object
Can make a whole difference whenever
We wake up in morning
Sitting in bed, tiredly remembering what
We were going to do today
A small choice, packed with a lot of meaning
Whether we want to stay inside
Or go out and meet the world


Serving as a doorway
To the possibilities each day brings
These curtains show us the days worth living (and hiding from, if that's what you want)

And if you don’t find that ordinariness beautiful
If you don't find those moments where we stand up and try to survive the long day ahead of us
Often just waiting to see those familiar curtains again amazing
Nor can you see how curtain-like we all actually are
Then try having no curtains for a day
And see what I mean