hello, gorgeous!
thank you for another delicious day.
close both eyes,
sun is warm and nice,
but it gets hard to write.
i guess i’ll turn around.
all i want to do is sleep this off.
closer to where things started.
not exactly so, but relatively,
and unrelated to my lousy tan lines.
do i need to be educating myself on politics?
last time i was here i had more color,
a different pair of sunglasses,
one bowl to smoke,
not thinking about you so much back then.
my hand shakes,
the curve of the line drops.
we stop.
if there were not so many things my heart had to say
then i would be facing the other way.
there was no reason not to go to the beach.
my print is starting to find its rhythm.
the structure is strictly sticks and stones,
and i can’t quite see my bones
yet, but i’m getting there.
poem is poem and nothing more
than words.
there have been so, so many.
somehow they were right about the apple tree,
truly, where else would the seeds land?
right next door, neighbors,
but not the kind i grew up with.
where did my sun go?
clouds can’t help but cuddle.
see: this is what i mean.
i shut down.
get out.
here i am.
see: this is what i mean.
turn around.

On Tradition

Aus Gott wird man gebor'n, in Christo stirbet man. //////////////// Und in dem heil'gen Geist fängt man zu leben an.


"If you're not living on the edge, you're taking up too much space." - anonymous




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