amongst the night scented pines i register with an impish partner plugged from off a fancy tiered cake her school dance dress and me a lumberjack of fashion new together us toys two splintered from our band of goofs
you are crow I become antler crowned a primer of pranky static amongst the wooded pines roots and leaves rhythm extant and a flashlight and slunken and bravado and hip checks and embarrass and mischief seek and mischief applied and bombast stolen alcohol and torso spatty wind and forrest swig mouth-to-mouth and pines and dark cloud covered stars and no moon new all the time a thing impending romance with exposed wrists a sick excite glassy glances into eyes and our mind could speed friction into flame feel the spin of the earth it's all just speeding up we clutch the pine roots hold it all together drawn silence.... ...
and she laughs to unnerve the 'breath withheld' then wind springs and creaking and branches again and we dance our feint we dub it 'the turpentine' one flashlight each takes turn and spotlights the other drunken performances hers a showy enchant and baiting stumbles discarded slippers earthy wet knees through laddered tights playing meekish prey i only take a quick awkward turn (some tribal hunter mime) so she can clown once again
our spotlight scatters life steals the nights light strips auras from the trees and we fire out the beam in waste and hazard as only courting humans would dare
~the wind feels the smallest birds It's got. —Primus St. John, "Biological Light", Gift of Tongues
The winds blow and gust written March 19th, 2021
Today the winds blow and gust bending but not breaking the boughs of the pine sending the last of the fall leaves swirling along labyrinth paths only the wind can see. We who can take shelter in constructs we have sweated and sacrificed for built to withstand the winds that blow so proud of ourselves, while the smallest bird without a straw to it's name lets go and rides the wind letting fate take it where it will.
i didn't realize you didn't care. i tried so hard to be there for you, but you blew me off like birthday candles. my favorite smell; next to pine trees, on a cold december morning, where i find myself missing you, again. it just turns out, that all the pretty words you said to me were lies and thats alright because ill just find myself lying in someone else's bed tonight.
See you and your rivered mind. Sought out in cyan. And cry for the drift in your eye. Made for. The groove. The tremolo in your pace. Rose hue to your face. And the sea to your shirt. The one you got in Olympia.