all I have to say

I thought the wanting came in waves...but then it just fucking stopped.

"new post"

It could be about anything
once the button's hit
he was driving, my
seventh grade math teacher
and let it fly out the window
my Chapter 7 Test
pre-composed
undisposed

It's not about him or that,
it's about this feeling of
grappling with the moment.

You have to be willing to improvise.

To give it up to whatever the universe yields in turn-
and good,
bad,
let someone else be the ogling judge.

walking home

it's not a denial

or a denseness

to which place

in mind

is place of real

I walk

and it is not

some godlike

sense of security

for I'm aware

of should'st be a shiver

where there is none–

I know but to know

is not to be–

it is not the lit

buildings, guardians

of nigh,

or the eyes of the streetlamps,

witness to

all wayward

journeys–

or the light in the window,

a curious

will o' the wisp?...

No.–

It is the moon

illumination awash

laked shores

the compass'd sky–

the Moon,

she lights everything up

like day.

Re: bad days

You're quite funny–
you think you know bad?
Try being sick, or crazy, or mad.

Look at you,
you know nothing of this.
You needlessly yearn but have nothing to miss.

You're inventing problems
your strawberries froze!??
I've never eaten one of those.

bad days

My strawberries froze
my friends are upset
the walls know
the coroner I met

Hibernation is over
the blue bells run dead
the battering red rover
has left us in shreds

The landscape drips oil
our ever blunder
o'er wasteland we toil
and defeated, fall asunder

I must bring myself to say
Sometimes I fear these are very bad days.

Magic exists,

I discovered in a soft pink room

in a 20-minute dream

fuzzy heart trace gracing my head

prisms of sunshine falling from zzzzzzz

I awoke restored in the province of fairy

knowing the world magical to be.

And to that girl,

Makenna Rose,

who makes me believe magic exists–

Clad in pink, clasping to spires

She looks to the open sea

Sun a tangerine orb of fire

From guile affectation she's finally free

That which fizzles here on planet's castle

The institutions of music it pervades

They mistake beautiful for fragile

Forgetting her heart is of the glade

Let us together the three sing

in full-lunged triumph to their glower

speeding night to Muse we cling

They forget that warmth, kindness, are power.

to my gorgeous friend, happy late birthday

let Tolkien's light again this year forge your way. <3

Limoncello

A bottle, geometrical glass, its mystical contents contained by wax dripped seven years past.

In it there's brusque matching dresses, white foldout chairs rows upon rows, the beating sun.

An afternoon slathered in sunscreen, swingset haven to our exhilaration.

Crisply: "Be our DJ," and the radio propelled in and out of midday traffic.

Sometimes I wonder where they went– 

and if there's no way of getting them back

what happens when the seal is broken, the bottle empty?