There is wear on my life as it skids to a halt and is scattered across the highway and into a tree.

What do you reflect in here, oh boy
with gentle spirits flying over your eye
What mysteries in here do you find
your eyes goggling confusing your mind
Scan it slow, peruse it mild
Regard it kindly, without going blind

Is it a desire waiting for chance?
The fire rising high with every glance
Do you see a person glaring at you
A graceful smile to reduce anger to few
If you see a mister gaping at wonder
Enjoy the questions surrounding in ponder
Fixate your stare, mine harder with glimpse
rubberneck your blinks, fly over realms

If that you must be ogling with greed
Let the bell ring to control your need
Be honest if you are leering at space
Contemplate your reflection, do not outface
Is it right, I think, you trying for peep
But there are mysteries shining deeper than deep
You can't just dip, You shan't just skim
Let mysteries glow real befo' you gloat in whim

why doesn't the wind from the swings give enough momentum for us to pick up our feet or
teach us the difference between anger and fear?

my face is always in the dirt, like a colorblind politician or like some self-loathing gardener with no sun-screen.  i bleed daily to ensure i will not bite off more than i can stuff into my pockets while brothers and sisters can't make eye contact and the astrophysicists are left to the shelters.

my eyeballs have poured out onto the cutting board like broken faucets and we rubberneck but
who's actually here to see the show?

i spread like butter on the sidewalk.
sessile;
like the moss that took root in the cracks
in the pavement

i decide too late i want a little girl.
i'll name her vada jane,
and you can kiss her when im gone instead

metal screeches
drivers stop to
rubberneck.

they don't see me.
they see my vada jane.
she's kneeling over me-
she's beautiful, right?
she shines like oil on asphalt

im dull like blood on moss

(when i think of you
i can breathe
you are real)

2. She died a few days ago. I went to the funeral, saw all her terrible friends with all their moon sized pupils and cracked teeth. The body didn’t even look like her—I wouldn’t have known it was her if it wasn’t for the scars. They didn’t cover them.

Mosses persist, despite their size, because of their biological resilience. They are structured to survive in the most extreme climates, able to retain enough water to keep them alive even for years of drought. Even a 50-year-old dried moss can be revived with just a splash of water. She reminds me of moss. I kept thinking, if I could just sprinkle a little bit of coke in the casket her carcass would soften and shoot up like a tulip in spring.

This whole thing has made me realize that humans are not as resilient as I’ve come to believe. Things are different when you bleed. The last drought killed her. Once you dry out, you are dry forever.

There's a thrill and you fall into it
          again as you forget  
                     Rubberneck contagion
           Anxieties in the upper regions
                though, no gut disturbance
                            a strange observation process

                         -without that hinderance
           Hopped up, the witness
                Gaze upon a brewing formation
             Linger tensions
           Fears shoot up from the deep
          Like ghosts and demons
            Around every corner and
          shadowed path
           In yr house, when you were young
       Still perhaps..

     you let it bite and a car pulls up
            Single pointed aggression
      And we proceed
           Such a wonder
                         Not really
               but the feelings
        procession of instincts
          habitual
     And we choose fractions
        Be important because we believe
       what the F* does that even mean?
       Can you go through the process
      To figure the dimensions of a form..

        Listen for a moment;
         He says he's drunk
      but really asking to be loved
    and miraculously it worked
       off he walked to oblivion
     if only we had the guts to follow

   ..I may have gone deeper
   Than I can dig, up a figure anyway
  But it's never a settled point
    So there's always room to play around