air smells what skin tastes like,
it depends on the 'why' you're tasting.

swept roads
as if, the clouds.

monday mourning
as if, the clouds.

tight muscled, barrel chested, gattling gun
as if, the clouds.

the tassles from the corner of
your journal complete a round of chess
on my chest. I've waited water.
the fold out map of surrounding eras
confirms my suspicion that
all doomsday prophecies are false. all ****-
day prophecies, not so much. the
tragedy resides in this: that it doesn't
have to be ****. we just refuse to clean up
after ourselves and start from
square one. adults tell
children not to fight. adults tell children to share.
adults tell children to look after one another. society is
an orphan with no
orphanage. you can't blame it
for not knowing any better. however, society
was pregnant in the 1960's. we
gave it an abortion. society may be pregnant
once again. it's up to
us if we're ready for the responsibility of

children.

bring me sunken ships. bring me the
daniel that called your name through
can't and nevers. he waited like a
switchback earring for the roller coaster
to simply answer a simple question in
regards to salt flats in Utah. the all-ages
cross-dress was broken in two and
expected to dance for the window washers
incorporated slogans, in what sense did the
teacher employ simile in the following sentence?
I like to like, it's like love but it's like. whistles and
bears make a combination as deadly as nitrogen
and nuclear fusion. any relation would have it's
way in Greek sandals marking Tumblr asks and
wondering where the littler of the 7 was born.

she's one of those Scandinavian girls all your friends at the barbecue would say,
"dude, how the **** did you manage to get with THAT?"
because they're all entranced in her painted and unintentional glow, she's a diamond,
and it's not the diamonds fault it's a diamond.

it's a mix of luck, probability, and perspectives on beauty derived from
thousands of years of embedded consciousness on what defines the aesthetics of a souls harmonic glances

I'm luckiest because she's not just a diamond on the outside.
the rest of her diamonds still reside underneath. speaking through her body yet still deep to discover
and I'll keep looking.

I'll keep looking and I'll discover how rich she is.

But she doesn't know it yet.
she may never know it.

diamonds are easy to see,
but hard to find.

occasionally, a flash of white page blankets her face like a pale Swedish summer
the video stream clunks along on solipsist angles, falling, waking, back, here here
pen on her tongue and I wonder where it's been, disease travels funny highways but the constant revelation of
one germ after another makes the body a well-protected warzone, immunity flaunts its immunity,
the pen picker probably protects the person a bit more aptly than the hand-sanitized middle-man afraid of the swine flu

blue blanket holds her shoulders like she's swimming in a lake of silly putty and her white teeth glisten because
she's lucky and no one ever notices their fortune when it's so close you can't see it.

turn around,
have you found it yet?

like the gold at the bottom of a Yukon stream
I need to stop underestimating myself.