a handful of new rounded black pills supposed to help me wander free and easily, rounding a small sized pit in me stomachs. doing their work, i am chosen to assume. the things that i don't have time for may directly proport to the sizes of the rooms in whence they takes place. a kitchen in a closet, and a few beets a week make it out of there at the rate that they currently go, if that. a bathtub, echoing vows of soul-mateship, a pink wall and i listen with my ear right up to it. sad to report that my beloved stimulant beverage can generally be taken in teaspoons at a time these days and i lie to pretend that i've only started slowly and swear that i'll be taking more, and accordingly thinking of more and more witty banter, if you feel like you'd like to wait for that.

years ago in the clean, sticky summer, she found a little flea, (a cat was likely sneezing moments before) moving tinily inbetween her fingers, could have squeezed a little more firmly but filled a glass with partly water, dropped it in and watched a creature stop swimming, or, thinking it could walk on the water, fly through.

i am caffeinated again, finally after all these years; a drug that makes all other loves possibly, utmost. resting heavily on your shoulder i missed your eyes but remember them.

wondering of late of commas of error of poetic license, letters reversed so artic you lately. naked trees, a tiny obsession with that, the biggest leaves so that i can hardly see you hiding behind one of the smaller ones. we are sitting on a great rock in the autumn sunshine and singing an alphabet song (but not that one) and only hours before i watched a full moon to accident distraction, even bigger than a clock ticking at half mast. what i meant to emphasize was the size of the moon, shrinking by three times by the time you had woken. we are all awake now, the moon gone by noon, and hourly i find tiny remnants of prehistoric revelry: a baby dinosaur's orb!

a sad nightmare, getting weepy now. aprevious holiday, artfully seeping sabotage. winds roar hidden in an sheltered spot, a grass sleeping horizontally, living in the seventh day of fall, halloween looming phosphorescent.

misery is a song

as a little one, sleepily singing in shady sun, a day that could be just perfect, and is it? difficult in telling at present. a drenaline, a screaming neighbor, spooky and, anothe rone.

i asked you what you were thinking about, sitting on a sidewalk, chalky hands, said, just thinking about her, what she's doing. i'd forgotten how simply a tiny mind can work, en joy at knowing i can usually know, now, exactly what's at the edge of it.

not from today

some eyes phenomenally sleepy, waking up with a crying eyes, looking alluringly depressing today. darker and cooler inside so much that i wouldn't dare hear an interruption, a grudge gets big enough to keep around for a while, my charming history revived.

from books i can learn the spleen to a whorling circle shot out of the top of my heads. each one goes into a nother infinitie, infinite numbers of those shotted trajectories sideby side. and a waste of some time i dreamed would be jittery in the good way. this morning i shook hungrily, romantically nostalgic for a day when i watched the leaves falling for the most dense hour, yellow. the shortest season, kissing on a sidewalk, sleepy and crying.

my neck n yours, fingers dirtier than feets, sinks, kitten ignores me, in short.