When it comes for the weekend,
I'm happy to have a short break
from the hectic daily life of school.
...but
I'm grounded, stuck in my room.
Netflix, Youtube, and video games
help distract me...
...but
I feel really lonely.
so inexplicably lonely.

What do you like doing on weekends Mahdiya?

Well, I find nauseating pleasure spending time loving people who were created to never love back.

You pierce my brain with worry
my body wants to close the shutters
to block your morning light

You inject me with responsibility
making me ache for childhood and loose youth
that was full of simple duties

You slap the "wake up" on my
lazy weekend face
causing me to feel the pain of facing the world

You dear Monday
are one hell of a *******

when your weekend grows
from black to black
marble casts its outlines
and the eyes roll back
she calls to the sapphires
in the moon draped night
where the weekend rolls
turn back time
where silvery milk thistle blossoms coat the sky
are you bad as night?
have you ever tried?
throw yourself on the wheel
then give yourself a real ride
until temptation's gone
you've never really tried
let your guard down girl
then give yourself a real ride

some survive dusk
others they hustle
black and white tv screens
bleed out the american icon

there is a camping trip planned and preserved
on the reservation of our hopes and dreams and summer sweet nothings. we
retreat upon an open-toed weekend, cooler gemmed
& ready.

there is a place in the mountains
& on that wooded ridge it is waiting to be seen and witnessed. lived
upon, lit upon,
seedling.

sure, i love you.
& sure, i’ll die. and that is forever.
& forever is -
no worry. no bluffs. no sweat.
because this life is right, and right now is everything.
yolk.
to become a bloom of love more than just words and digits and plays of
time. this time
is ours.

is good beer. great beer. &
the heat. the her. her soothes and sovereigns
on this land in which we live with the whole tribe and fun days.
we are our own dreams.
good dreams.

meet her on the shore of a river.
& she is listening and speaking and sung.
with an urge
to love and let begin.
take precedent. take my nettled little heart
and crackle like fire from it the nutrient of lonesome ode.
& from the strum of that
we begin.

we end.
we cog back into the existence of small time
small town nobodies. worked little we.
service and cinema.

thus
busting gut toward town and more weekends and more movement.
there is motion to this curve of time, kids.
curve of pages expressed
& exposed here in wayward traveled poems.
truths of some sort or hallucination. here
we daydream.

Saturday sidewalks are filled by the youthful,
the boys with young muscles and hard heads,
the girls with soft skin under short skirts.
They wander sidewalks in search of escape.
Each of them dance with lust,
drink hard,
and inject madness
into their veins.

On Sunday mornings,
after the splendor of uninhibited release,
the young weep in regret of poor choices,
their air saturated in reality.

Sidewalks then belong to the wise
who wake from a good rest.
These men and women drink roasted coffee,
reflect on a transcendent spirituality,
read great poetry,
and meet friends to discuss
the roots of democracy.

Every year, the unchanging concrete slabs
of sidewalks appear slightly different.
They reflect our perspectives.
Sidewalks that once led to freedom,
now lead to enlightenment.
In future years,
these same sidewalks
will lead to rest.

Hellz yeah!
I wanna do that!
It'd be a right gas
and
the night is young!

The best part will be:

...waking up in the morning?

Pfft. We should go here.
But
He can't.

Lame.

Movin' on -
Hey!
Dude, it's gone.

Y'know it's not right.
Dude, it's gone.
Yeah.

****, that stuff is nasty!
Does.
Not.
Matter.
Movin' on!

Out?
Need it.
Call it.
Got it.

Safe.

The flood of weekend fun
has ended -- its deluge

Of waves and love and friends
. . . as waves.

Persists, propels a new inspiration.
Inertia.
Forward.

Back to reality, to work,
responsibility.

To simple morning coffee,
once again,

That reminds me, simply,
once again,

That all these forms are my reality

There is no dearth
Of reality

No dearth

Of weekends
Of mornings
Of coffee
Of work
Of responsibility
Of friends
Of love
Inertia
Forms
Waves
Reality

No dearth
No dearth

Just fun

Just flood

My roommate is leaving for the weekend
You and I have Fridays off
The beach is always open
But my apartment will be empty
Whatever shall we do
With this
Magnetism

We stepped past the point of no return
And still turned back
That was the last time I saw you
Whatever shall we do
With this
Ferocity

You kiss the same way I do
I'm scared and energized by your touch
What if you love the same way I do?
We'll never leave this place
Not until it looks like wartime ruins
Whatever shall we do
With this
Animal passion

Whatever shall we do
If we are both attackers
And neither of us victims
Whatever shall we do
With this place to ourselves
And nothing to interrupt us
Whatever shall we do
If both our palms are sweaty
At the thought of being alone

I mean
We can do
Whatever