Fieldwizards and firetops. Wobblybirds on snowflowers. Chilled milk and chowder for the little prince. Mothercake for mumbled thanks.
I dream sometimes you surprise me and it is surprising that I don’t immediately realize I’m dreaming
i love you for the doubt you show me still possible in this body where you show me
there are never really any angels in god’s company, it really just pretends them
man, it’s hard to come down from impossible hopes seemingly
the conquering child turns 50, gets the gag out its mouth, says here i am. let’s play now
finally, without knowing it was coming, he got to die. it was great. like a birthday party clown, he was equally the center
like bell bottoms or disco but we need it to think i’m dead
life and even one good thing– anything, a course in wonders becomes? no school, thanks not for me. no lesson one so likes declaring to find itself legs. no
I love how you talk Down to everyone In your poems Which, unlike fiction Are not covered
this being we are, delights in all things, yes but is held breathless
root it out the tiny bit left that says someone’s in charge not you. don’t let it live
STEP BACK! There’s an infection you’ll get if you come any closer. It will open your eyes through the crust
if you enjoy this pain, all expressions of it, being here compiled, then, yes enjoy them, but
unspeakable dearth of nutrient the cause of the complaint, lack of the sweet titmilk of human connection,
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