a bird in the hand
some beetles are meat
grit in the sand, dune chunks
that’s why here’s not feather smooth
the dreamscape has it’s own way
step as you will
every indent is transferable
every surface hewn
the chafer considers every grain
flexes every thread and fiber
and that is the journey made plain
this feeling is a gnat
a tiny buzzard
the inky speck
flapping in the molasses
gnat time is that
i hear in my heart
there is no escape from metaphor
common experience is not plain
stars collide, satyrs collude
stir all the cliches in the black pot
and pour them magma hot into the black kettle
nettled by a gnat
salved by it’s decomposition
Yes, the last three months did go as expected. I expected a series of days wherein the sun rises and I get out of a bed more or less the same person. In the fourth month, however, I accept the possibility that I could wake up in another body or in another dimensional plane. I mean, that’s how I got here in the first place, right?
It's very important to have an assortment of tricks when I'm in a bad mood, such as whiskey, vodka, beer, wine. Just kidding! Hanging out with the bf is alwas good, especially if a long walk is involved. Writing for an hour. Ice cream. Talking on the phone with a good friend. Back massage at the mall from this one guy in particular really knows how to open up my shoulders.
Dangling shoe off toe when talking. It's very distracting.
It’s going to be a real slog today. Lex is in the hospital with a bad case of punch-in-the-face and my supersonic hearing isn’t picking up so much as a mewing kitten. Good lord, it’s 8am, I can’t just sleep all day. Doesn’t matter that it’s Memorial Day weekend. Better shower now, or the day will be lost to the villainy of laziness.
Superman trudged down the hall with a super-sized towel and the mint plant that his boyfriend had given him. Continue reading