(2013)
I understand the tattoo now “VERITAS” on your wrist, only there because it is entirely absent everywhere else.
leaning into, not against it. no, decidedly for, yes, always that, no matter
Fieldwizards and firetops. Wobblybirds on snowflowers. Chilled milk and chowder for the little prince. Mothercake for mumbled thanks.
if i stub my fucking toe it’s their fault so say i, and who could argue? you almost
every story, especially those promising finally to grant the square hat with tassels, is a load of shit. the god which
unspeakable dearth of nutrient the cause of the complaint, lack of the sweet titmilk of human connection,
when (finally) we meet I’m thinking spring wildflowers will bloom on high
does a king come ready– made, or doesn’t he emerge from a prince once a frog, and aren’t you
stupid met crazy decided to have a baby or two... what else you gonna do?
i could not conceive of such beauty, it had to hit me like it has. nothing
you are guilty of failing to love and understand me, like a dog is guilty of failing to speak or use
so, come on then, brilliant one, see, i’ve been waiting for you with eyes
if ever someone is my dearest ear who hears my truth as theirs
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
drry awfl drd sys thngs tk t lng & y bttr hrry lst y