mid-afternoon and the coffee is still hot. I have been listening to the same two songs back-to-back for the last 2 months. I now know what I want. I can see it, I can feel it, and sometimes in the middle of the afternoon, I can taste it (no sugar, no cream). this is as American as it gets. cafe surf for days on end and on and on it goes.
wind, rain, stay.
I never thought of it like that.
laundromat meditation: nothing is here. this is an island of pilled towels and dry skin.
I only want to eat love for the rest of my life. that is all I know about the rest of my life. its deep sea darkness and elephant in the attic kind of weight. weight, wait.
"talk to you later." "talk to you soon."
strawberry fields and one blueberry lake. let's go for a walk.
we may destroy the earth with our love, but the moon will never die. find me on the other side
if a person says one thing and then they do it in the same day, that means something. that doesn't just mean something. it is something and for that, it means everything.
There are two ladybugs sitting on my bookshelf.
I have been writing about you on a piece of paper or two. There are only a few words that make you appear and none of them are: come here.
I have been mapping the constellations of your being by reading your horoscope at midnight before mine.
there is never enough time in the day so I use all my words and go to bed at the wrong time every night and wake up at odd hours (the combinations of days), so I can find that feeling, that exact feeling when you bent down from your tall legs and shared what an angel might call a breath.
a woman and a man walk down the side of the street. there is a moment when the woman stops to turn to look at me and the idea of coffee. the man stops and turns to see what she is looking at. the only thing they share is mumbling and maybe a question of clarity. then her big hand waves in front of her face and she mouths "nevermind" to herself as if she never thought of it at all. they walk on.
thank you to those gods sitting on the clouds of my consciousness who are allowing Yes into my vocabulary every day I wake up and breathe.
for you, a potter throws. this needs a handle, too.
wool toes and cottonwood swings from windows, to come.
I have always wondered what gods actually look like. are they as ugly as us? there are other questions, of course. what does it look like to have everything you want when you want it? what is magic? what is chemistry? is it all just proof and theory? is it all just configuring and alchemy? becoming, always becoming. finding the fault line between be and come. where are you?
I don't live in a city. I live in a town, and technology exists and snow falls immediately and forever.
an intention of the present and its incessant need to be. the dryness of a walnut half between my teeth.