too busy doing other shit
you turn around and realise you missed half the year by being busy elsewhere the world moves on and poems get written but what box
Category: Poetry
anticipated end
in anticipation of the end we hang depend watch the day distend we have been organising books avoiding cat-claw hooks treading across the carpet naked
not miles away
sucking on a popsicle acting like i’m kane in kung fu walking the ghost town where sitting down earns you stares fuck the never theres
are fur note
half a note yesterday passed to a teacher who appeared in a zen moment that said you are ready i’m running a kerouac road with
a music, a painting
how free do you feel about saying fuck off? leaning into the wind of the stare of another? brother motherfucker tell some shithead he’s a
watch the birds
i’ll sit here and you sit there be aware i’m sending up a warning flare this is healthscare not healthcare spinning out of some kind
only ten people
like it’s a fucking selling point time and body out of joint the kind of day you want to anoint with a sneeze, with a
every lessen
every lesson a dull head learns is something that a dull heart earns in the field the body burns narrow in the fallow until the
the wait of unknown soldiers
the weight of unknown soldiers here on unknown shoulders shrugging up from climates that are colder and seem more so as we grow older dead
past gravity
pick up the slack the let loose chaos a handful of dusky blooms cast across the floor to cushion the light footfall we were inside