in the forever

in the coast. there were coasts everywhere, canyons like cliffs. someone last week flew a
  porche off a cliff from the wind road we drove in the early hours
we talk abt deaths a lot, so often sometimes we become immune to that it's better
  than we, we immortal
standing in the place you were
when you exploded your head off
  we feel best when we climb over it
& we're standing there overlooking

like the night city is incomprehensible
like a new city is
but I'm picturing us all there
the ones who'll never leave our sides, hands chained, fingers interlocked
the width of us a city block
the width of us a city's thickness
the width of us deathless, now
the past a murmur
the past is murdered
and we've nights
for our bodies
to web out
like kids
like the future really is ours, then
to fly off cliffs
or to hold on & spread out & go
 at the good invented forever

19: spring snowflake lichens

Like a snowflake (in spring), and the only character around is a goose (Canada). I, along with water hesitate, churning my hands in and out of air (an element of some water there), the fine fog surrounding the frost-lined water. The goose (biting at the snow) warns of impending something. I scratch my flesh; wart lichens happening to grow across my calves and knees (bitter, I am at this, but still in wonder at the colors & textures). The fine dirt below, the rockbright glimpse shining off cliffs. Your own cliffs, your own fuzzed & lichencovered rocks (testes), there, so in my mind a snowflake (in summer). Your own resurrection plant. I admit, there were tranquilizers, but this was a summer of regretlessness! Awakening to the sound of the sparrow, the scent of soapwort as it sapped across my happy earlymorning body! My skin in the cold, cold pond, the scratch of thornbush lichens (coastal) combing through my hair.