Monday

still
feeling the wheel
turn slowly
around my neck
to the front of my face
in unison with
the murmur
not of cars or of people
but of the earth turning

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clay

In the beige and blue
I’ve accepted the
fact that every crush
I have
will ultimately be
a covering of words
and length a
rearranging
highlighting the certainties
illuminating the things
that make
them seem like poetry

#30

That day at the
end of September

I look at you and
understand why the
waves do what they do

I then also understand the
silence among the mountains
the leaves
on the brink of decay

it was years ago now
but I still compare
the two color schemes

the oranges and pinks
at eye level

and the dark blues
behind us

groundhog day

light that shows
through the trees
projects delicate
shapes on the boardwalk
on this lined paper
my dress
these are the only patterns
that matter
words don’t mean a
thing
is it this sweat
showering
from my face
stinging my eyes \

someone is starting
a motorcycle
the lawnmower man

mowing his
lawn is not new
and the bird
conversation happening
overhead is
centuries old
ancient

moon/myhome

I’ve had zero fun
this past year
actually it’s been quite
the desolate shit show

something anything
oh my god
get me out of here
all of my thoughts have been
curbed to ‘that guy’

to that one artist
that he said he liked
and then I took and made it
a key fact to remember him by

so whenever I listen to that album
I fall even deeper
into the snippet of reality s
Past
in the dark woods
dim trailer lights

the moon saw
him standing in front of me
with the token hoodie on
smoking a cigarette
but then that moment
shut even tighter in the future
a night at the end of winter
where we were together
at a bar with a dead fish logo
he said he felt happier
than earlier but
it was the alcohol