Fieldwizards and firetops. Wobblybirds on snowflowers. Chilled milk and chowder for the little prince. Mothercake for mumbled thanks.
we are nearly always a world which almost
now, I’m no Bukowski but my friends who don’t like poet… except his stuff, tell me they like mine, and I can drink like a drinking machine
excuse me, i thought you were also the center of a fractal
better fucking eat it all up. time is getting drunk & may puke, be rude, before finally
they really do know how to shove something up your ass like
shut my eyes and squeeze my demand, the point of a spear. what will happen.
god is unwelcome in suburbia, the cells are too comfortable there, & love rests best under stars.
cool this angst some with beer, amazing how it works, three in and suddenly ashamed that i could hate
this being we are, delights in all things, yes but is held breathless
was all stupid. you weren’t that entertaining. i find it all only sad now, that
just remember we are so much more than words. shadows are beautiful too but let’s not
i love you for the doubt you show me still possible in this body where you show me
I will meet you in the open air, & pet your pony’s nose. You will be
just listen the trees drink silly.. I work i work that day the not