lets make some music, make some money, find some models for wives

sunned

rested

tired

sheltered

unprepared

final stretch, we're almost through

and then on with the start of the rest of our lives

Il est interdit d'interdire

a massive body so many brains joined at the ribs feet upon feet marinate together at the top of their lungs we leave bruised and exerted falling to pieces at the seams of our smiles ready to keep living and the night to keep giving killjoys at the coroner of the mind pushed behind the curtain it's amazing that aching so badly makes you feel so alive i'm ready to start roasting.

This is what living like this does

my countdown is always off, and those little red numbers tick by like cold molasses but i can see my horizon, and that is getting too close too quickly i'm living with the sweetest dream killer you've ever met. the " you are pathetic "s are wrapped in discount cotton, and that bless-your heart tone makes me feel naive you're right, i'm not ready or worth enough. i'm hoping that this rubber to road thing works out, cause i can really see this blowing up in our faces. like, bad. maybe we'll have night, the sun always sucks the fun out of everything. call me Peter Pan, but can we be nine years old again? just for one week? I'll pray for you all, and this because this sinking guilty feeling is the only thing that can make me cry so(ul) raw and pathetic it's not my fault it's just day by day from this point out recount

the storm is new to me and old.

30 minutes a morning inching along three miles of hell. Hundreds of people, and the problem won't be fixed. Hours a day. that desk, that hall step in step out, same combination over the same tiles no eye contact, and the problem won't be fixed. 40 odd weeks. Same thoughts, same results, same reaction; no motivation, empty head, clawing for an idea. Frustrated, and the problem won't be fixed. The electromagnetic field isn't descending quick enough, something needs to shake this up. You frustrate me too. I'm resisting the urge to be a trade in friend "Why yes ma'am, we can trade in the Camry for the Prius, should we toss in the complementary air-freshener with that?" look at me. don't apologize. have an opinion. don't be afraid to be wrong. Shriek for something, please? baked turkey on white, one green apple, one strawberry granola bar, one brown paper bag. I feel like japanese. 50 brown paper bags to go.

i will redeem myself

i'm looking into the sun, and these two days will leave my face brown and smiling week ends are the only endings i like a soul splinter of jesus meanders past traffic to school walking and waving, everyone's greeting behind his teeth grocery bag full of food and a upturned thumb goodwill and goodfortune everyman's boy, every mom's favourite, goldenchild, every peer's best friend and he's all ours we should know our luck he knows everyone's name 56 days

spending all your nights growing old in your bed

oh creepy yoga pants man crank your engine and be jealous of youth and nothing wasting life. averting the future. I wish the power would stay out forever, so we could stay here singing at the top of our lungs. remember us (?) 57 days left

Rain down your waiting world

Light filters through opaque cloud blankets, reflected in the rear view mirror tree's vivid green, street line's yellow, and black tarmac pop, saturated up to my irises At one point in time a pot farm on the pottery teacher's property would have shocked me. My mother is disgusted, other teachers angry, and I'm oddly detached. It's no big deal, he just got caught, he wasn't hurting anybody, and when will he come back. but it came out of nowhere, and it shakes. I want to die dreaming, but I have no dreams. My organs must be rotting. You're like a paper-shredder to my patience. 63 days