There's as sense in my garden frozen
Hardened herbs and veggies
set me on a course of action
that will set a plan of course
Coursing courses of tiny plates
Tasting bits and pieces
Places released a faction face
Found in my patrons feces
Fevered fair cost a lot
Lots souled off of dead replaces
Chasing perfect is a lot
Like living in empty spaces

In an effort to make things more friendly everyone was instructed to leave their dogs at the party,
while the rest of us were kindly asked to go home.
Still, the cops showed up and no one spoke any English.
I mean they understood it well but lacked the proper capacity to carry on a conversation.
Still.
I've never seen a party look so happy when the K-9 unit finally decided to show up and make sense of the situation.
They were qualified.
Probably made the most sense, and should have brought those good boys out in the first place.
Still.
They licked every last inch of my face.
Real estate in skin is something to be graced with, not take unfinished.
Polishing cheeks in drool is the duty of dogs.
Goodness is like a gallon of pond water dredged from the bog.
Slaving away for canteens of nostalgia, patina.
My memories stay sealed in a golden marina.

That's why.
That's seems to be why I'm ******* all the time,
there usually is very little at the end of the road to be had.
I haven't felt so bad in winter wear,
but winter's here and now heat is what I've got to make
a part of my life.
Bearable things are what turn strife into fun.
Making runs onto lakes and fields.
I try to make the words sound like real leaves on puddle piles
Endearing doves mourn duck rapes, wild berry patches, thistle thatches.
So, twirling into a spiral.
Sinking into cones.
Pine trees stay sticky,
and climbing the big ones gets me home.

Bach likened hope to god
Lauding in laurels like a living legend
He's dead, real dead, it's odd
Oddly deadly ditties
Harp on hope and mindful mitigation
Irrigation sows such sounds in fields
Of hearts who can't be found
Fiddled at a clavichord
Fixated on a face
Looking at her clavicle
With music
Sweetness can erase
Erasing dubious dealings
Let them leave my face
I need to forget the girl
Forget my heart and race

Into it, light up on the world, she crested on mountain edges, bound barriers likened her to a sage in old legends.

Still, there it was, all night.
And there I was within sight of her.
And it was like there was a  pleasant air about the bar.
Everyone was friendly here.
Some people, in friendly ways, kindly kept their distance.
It was even, warming buffers.
Noise and those smiles that seem to adore two talking.
Set pace, even in the next space the volume was for being a part of one another.

She set a stage for me.
For us, I should say.
Because both of us had decided it was worth it to stay up late tonight.
With each other.
And why does that
feel like a proper decision?
It's because the exposure to the things that you like can actually make you happy.
Things can feel not so bad.
When there is someone to have an evening with.
And to even have someones ear.
Caring.
It's what begins to be done once evening staring has won over topics in conversation.
The air on the tongue and the skin in the lamp light is what actually matters tonight.
Any song can be sung, under proper conditions. Then the artists true vision can be heard on her ears.
Her hair.
I'm feeling the urge to stare and every one can tell that she might feel the same way.
But they haven't said anything.
Because there's nothing to say

Homelessness and Joblessness are brothers with a plan
Sanding hope off of boards
Making meal out of man

Sleeping under, over bridges
Sleeping in a can
Sleeping with the winter witches
Which person feels a pain
Which person can abstain
From feeling pain from people
Popping pills and stealing
Stabbing Stabbing
Choking Choking
Folks in dirt can feel.