I bought a paper
Bag of sunshine
Stood on dry pavement in
An early autumn rainstorm
And let the damp crush it
Crumpled brown paper bag.

I remember a car trip in
A vehicle similar to this one
And how I had notebook paper and
A purple pen with purple ink
I guess that old Barbie pen was
My first love.

Honestly, my nose is cold but
It's not raining
And my socks are keeping
Me and my massive sweatshirt warm.

Pink braid, pink shoes
I'd like to think I'm wiser
As wise as the owl on my keys
Too wise to write a letter like I did.

Part you, part her
Part him, part them
Part coffee breath but mostly
I wrote this brown paper poem.

Through the morning fog
I couldn’t make out your face
An eerie silhouette, facing me
snap
snap
Twigs under your feet
Shivers up my spine with each step
closer
closer
Come nearer, dear
Vague is the memory
But it haunts me still
Your breath against the chilling air
An outline, moving but not approaching

oh.

To my dismay, you were walking
In the other direction.

and i swear
in that moment
we were the only two people
in existence

and i’ve been
meaning to say it
for awhile now

cause i see
that you’re getting so…
distant

our conversations
hold no value
and the distance between
is like a chasm

we used to have something
and like a flower,
it bloomed and withered away…
to nothing

and there’s this ache,
this pain…
and i try to ignore it
but i can’t
cause the memories
just won’t fade away

and the longer we go
without talking anymore,
the chasm will grow

and then we will be
so distant
so far away

but we’re already distant,
already so far away

and i don’t know
if it will ever be the same
again

cause when something
cuts you deep,
the pain goes away,
but the scar remains.

The snow falls and
everything stills.
Though it's so sad the sun's gone
So you look up
at the sky and
suddenly
everything is new
and you're somewhere else

Someone else
falling from the sky is

London

Paris

New York City

San Francisco

Places where things happen and
fog looms and
the air is filled with
pulsing
life and
music.

Where you breath
fire and ice
at last
where the streets are running with ink
and words flow and sing
where poetry rains from the crying clouds
and
everything is alive

I’m having a hippy drippy day
A great day to snuggle up inside
A drizzling rain and skies are gray.
I’ll call some friends to come and play.
I’ll cook up some muffins and popcorn
And chill off a gallon of cheap jug wine
Get out my guitar and my old ukulele
This day is going to work out just fine.

Rotten Ray and Pity Patty will come
The first to arrive as they always are.
Cokehead Bobby will ride with them
Because he never has a working car.
Dan will bring his Alice B. brownies
And whatever squeeze he has today.
Eldon Day will come since Dan’s here
As usual pretending he is not gay.

The music will start in right away
Four or five guitars and bongo drums.
There may be more instruments later
It depends on if Dial-A-Party comes.
While that is not a professional company,
It’s what we call it when we all meet
One calls another and soon we see
Small groups of people on the street.

Especially on rainy days, it turns out
We all love this kind of gathering
Depending on who is off that day
And how big a storm we’re weathering.
But joy and music is the rule of the day.
We laugh and get ****** and sing,
Some drizzily hippy drippy happy fun;
A gathering of close friends means everything.