That Day

If you can feel the rub of water, the tops of your feet drifting under, your ankles thin pilings barnacled and you can't see beneath the surface but there is reason to believe anchoring.

If you can believe, lethargy overcomes. Maybe he'll meet you there. Maybe he'll lift the water, if you can articulate, and maybe he'll leave your drying breasts never to be seen again, if you're lucky.

If you're lucky you'll never read the things written about you and maybe none of us is lucky and just look at obituary writers talk about unlucky talk about self-reflection, God, you just can't stand it.

If you are God then are you also fond of me? This question is unrelated to luck. I will blame you but that's what happens when love is no longer complicated, down on my luck and bitterest wind roughing the knuckles, you understand, you've been in scrapes.

If I don't come to lift the water, try to remember what it's like to imagine imperfection and then on that day you created imperfection, and it was good.

Home

I keep shiverin and I'm not even cold, keep shiverin to the sound of music to the ache of dyin to the silence of your voice the way we can just sit wordless even we get sick of words they're so goddamn old and ugly when you and me, we can just sit wordless and fuck words anyways fuck all words fuck every last word

___let's just burn under starlight, waste away to ashes at the gaze of Ursa Major gotta go big or you can never go home,

__________________________________________________come home
please

____________________come home

These are the reasons I don't want to believe in you

Blaming you weakens me. Thanking you is just another way of placing blame. Trusting you is disappointing. Living for you is dying and dying for you is no way to live. Loving you kills. Killing for you kills love. Your book is shit. Your people never look up from the sunlit pages, never have to squint at anything bright. Wish I could see real well and read real well, wish I could look down, look away, look anywhere. Wish the sun wasn't everywhere at once, blinding, that I could see it long enough to believe in it, long enough to stop believing in you, because it wouldn't hurt nearly as much.

The Black Tornado and the Hurricane

I'm full of regrets when it comes to meanness, I don't want meanness but here it comes, riding my leg you can see it like thorny black anaconda vines. It's part of a complex algorithm known as a barrel of fed up. Listening to stupid songs by Dan Bern, fuck you Dan, you do sound like Dylan. Ride that shit to the moon, people like Dylan.

I'll try not to be mean anymore.

Sometimes Don't Feel Like

Not much to say sometimes, don't feel like saying much sometimes, not clever. Just the base feeling vibrato in the veins, the base feeling, when the bag boy stares a moment too long when I pay with the food stamps. The base feeling, when there's not much to say sometimes, don't feel like saying much sometimes, not clever, just repetitious. It's that base feeling.