the cat barks at the no-see-ums

I flipped a switch of ghost, liking the term of a dirty switch and grabbing hold of it to self-entitle. Cocoa butter, a roll of toilet paper. A french press copper ashtray jar of lavender stems a bottle of black ink.

Get lost in the moss. My little stone's throw from a battering brook, a beating from that wayside burble, stones (like I) tossed in and out of tiny wakes. Buried bruised in sparkling pink of bath.

References made shatterable, from rhyme 

unravelling ribbon, spells outcast

my imploding pink sheath.

one salty song for spring

The cat bats at something I can't see. Joseph says cats bat at ghosts. It smiles an uncertain smile, but most of what I'd like to say hangs in the reflection of moon against a glasspane, something that is nonexistent on this darkest clouded night. The cat scratches at the door wanting to leave, and I feel proud. The particular moon, one undoubtedly crescentshaped though haven't seen, truly, on this last morning in march, the first of the shortest spellings. One unseen by me, for the mentioned darkness above, erasing any spatterings of stars or a little slip of moon, even.

In this particular bedroom, one particular for many reasons, I can always it seems see the march moon on an early predawn morning. Usually there's a bright fog piercing softly through the mottled glass of the bathroom. Tonight is a moonless night. Though maybe is just moonless to us still it's mine I can't see. I know its pending shape so can picture it beautifully in the mind.

An upward glance. Warm brown paths unmowed, unplucked. Growth unleashes but is walked upon; the gentle fronds part. A rustle of tufted tops. Tickling a shin, grazing an ankle. Pale orange sunset over a simple hill rounded. The brain a simple patter pitter, just a dust rock skipping sidewise from beneath a meandering foot. A spray in clouds of little dirts, tiny explosions laying soft in patternless waves. A print to blow away in a matter of seconds or months depending. Circumstantially skidding softly down a slope, a loping of hands and knees operating openly. A small gash, a twig on the river. A canal, a rope tied to a tree, a wig of black lichen blowing. A small checkered warbler making a moan from a nearby branch.

Contentedness abounds

remainders

The mirror has fallen to break so many more times since the initial crash, undoubtedly that occasion leading to its abandonment curbside as trash for my finding. The mirror has fallen so many times, but this last at an attempt desperate by K to leave my crowded bedroom. She left mostly a crescent of glass in her wake; I approve consistently.

An icecream cake, cookies and cream and yellowgreen flowers. A birthday cake for Ch. A red dress, one with tulips maybe, forest green, taco chile sticks of smoke. That old coconut scent everywhere, probably just a reminder of the future, the next weeks during which peregrenations occur.

a distressless little creature beneath it all. a dreamless little one!

Yes, this mirror story is not me analogizing, for example, a tale of the innards in rhetoric and flavorless poetries. Just a decent little remainder of a night spent. And then yes, I too should pick up those busted shards sitting like shiny mountains resting against the walls. By the door, so always underfoot nearly. To be laconic, that is for certain...

I love a laugh a punch in a bowl called icecream cold brings.

I can't like should care am listening can't

I can't remember why I hated you. I don't like bike gangs. I cannot be affiliated with one, though I like the idea of them very much.

It's cooler to meet someone outside a party than in it.

I should be looking to the girls... Skip a cock though I maybe have never learned to skip rocks on a pond.

I don't care; I maybe drunk stoned and tired. Or one or some of the above.

I am sure that moon memorabilia is for a purpose that I like so much. It is.....okay, just the moon & me......

I am listening to this song: "I leave the party at three am alone thank god"

true - Budweiser

And, this song I can't stand the rain by tina turner always comes on. Never wrong

in about two minutes

I will bathe. I made list of the people I've seen, or those spoken to over the telephone.

I bathed. My hair, in similar shades. I swear I'll stop this, I know that it could be anywhere I do all this, but not for long, for weekly trips mandatory to the beach are in my future. Thursday... I have to wait, but oh what a wait then, and I...

firsts

Oh, bursts.

Here is what I have to offer tonight: swaying under the projected black sky, clouds in shades of blue spreading waywards. But this is all just a projection, and not from a projector, but just a mind. The Mind. I will also offer, a moonlit glance. Oh, I listen to neko case all of a sudden. Which reminds me of a tale I have never recalled in writing.
Summer, Ch and K, two beers two tiny bottles of transport whisky, a mountain of rocks at the Park, the park all capitalized, carlo rossi, twilight, runners in underwear, a joint, sky through trees, peeing in a rocky crevasse, neko case across the valley, holding a dog on leash. Holding hands & looking for boys, bikeriding, pool playing, winning and losing.
But now: now it is not so different, it is my room not the mountain, but if a room could be a mountain I'd like to say that this was it. Pretty woman's dress from the polo game. An adventinus.
Shades of blue... cerulean, david rudman. Put out in a snuffer. Snuffed
There were a lot of times when I picked the names for the children... but that's nearly the furthest I got... aside from physical traits by collision with those of some loved one at a point or time... ah ha, ahhhoooo creation! Congratulations.
Ferdinand
Merrill

patrimonies

Oh my little butter print...

I remember that all is another 12 years, before anyone could articulate anything. I love a lobster like I could a wet sunset/ just nearly evaporated...

oblivionward

my innards like a haystack all destroyed

Hello, are you free tonight, I like your looks I like your smile, can I use you for awhile... It's all wrong but it's alright!

Mostly joking, but seriously, now I am going on my first beach adventure of the new year. I can't predict anything, but can tell exactly. I just cannot stand for the life of me an end to anything. Too bad everything must end and end again to begin.