Its fight or flight
when it comes down
to the end of things

flight is comfortable
we walk away with less
— external — bruises

fight is harrowing
its a double edged
sword, my dear

bruises and scrapes
show on our flesh
but — internally — thrive

what to do with yield signs
thrown in my greener grass
is this the other side?

paradise turns, choked
choked to undergrowth
and vermin

a misunderstanding of
what a truth is

perception versus reality

This is it.
The role of the dice so maybe I can finally sleep,
Hopefully these are the last words I write so my heart can slow to the creeping I wish It'd be,
So I can dream of things that I will never have to have the pleasure of seeing again.

rebellious dark clouds,
took the full moon their captive;
rains freed her quick!

My friend who isn’t one
Said being a starving artist is a new aesthetic
Like brunching at farmer’s markets
Paint drips, dropped on, white shirts
No shows, at art shows, in SoHo
Exotic meds, white dreads, still fed
Living in your bed head

My cat, she knows the truth
Napping on a pile of wet cat food



Actually, it’s
Calling your chef friend Michael again
And asking him if he knows a different way
To make ramen taste better
Because last time it still tasted
Like you forgot to pay your light bill

like parallel lines
                  
                                        we'll never meet

Should you kindly tell your tales,
I may blindly slash and flail,

Send the ink to paper and scribe the thoughts in immortal time.

When my fires burn invisibly,
Blissfully I stand across the path of my pain,
Aging to wonders I'd never known, but,
I dare.