too many things to say
too many things to want
too many things to read
too many things to do
too many things to know
too many things to think
too many things to see
too many things to be
too many things to make
too many things to appreciate.
too many things to say
too many things to want
too many things to read
too many things to do
too many things to know
too many things to think
too many things to see
too many things to be
too many things to make
too many things to appreciate.
this is my new + selected life
curated for fast + easy enjoyment
you’ll know me inside + out
an experience to “cut through the noise".
I
I got a tingly feeling
And floated to the ceiling
When the message came back
I had waited for years
Cycling through my fears
They vanished in a second
II
Your arms were like leather
I’m a pillow of feathers
Bobbing and flopping to sleep
I never touched the ground
Or even heard a sound
But my neck was warm and fuzzy
III
Pauses between what I said
As far apart as our heads
Objects closer than they appear
Eyeball glued to the mirror
She’s far enough to see her
Stubborn cheeks sore from sitting
ROUGH DRAFT
The dragon might eat my soul
If I leave my tent
I hear his breath
Through the polyester vents
His body flows around me
But he dare not enter
As if he had fetters
Scared of polyester?
I’ve been here as long as I can remember
Eating the lichen and maggots
There’s a pile of my shit
In the corner
At least there are good reads
I’ve even started some philosophy
To shed light on this mystery
About the polyester
I hear his gnashing teeth
My soul he would eat
He would savor me, oh yes
If he could get me out of this tent.
1st draft
He used to walk upon the thousand hills
‘Til the day he became truthless
He once drank of the gushing wine
Yet the Spring has dried up
Why does he accept his fate?
As if he had no choice
His faculties are in working order
But there is a missing gear
The hills are but a jaunt up
The wine merely to be tapped
If only his clouds
Would slow their rushing across the sky
A cumulonimbus blocks the light of the sun
That which fed the flourishes of the painter’s brush
The canvas is barren
There are no more worthy ideas
He is truthless.
And he doesn’t know what truth is
All the thousands of words in the thousand books
Cannot discover the mystery
Look at this buttercup... I mean really look.
Are you seeing it?
Look at the dog's hairs... There are millions. Little tiny hairs. That make up that face. Are you seeing it? Are you thinking about it? What are you thinking about?
The last of the blondes
By 2030, the blondes will be extinct
The last of them will be in Finland
I don't claim to be anything here
so don’t feel some type of way about it
hey this is a test
Read More