decembme

with a whimper. I put down the meusli, I put down the grapefruit I halved (done right) because it tastes bad to me, or it's from texas, or, or, the beans in my stomach making puff puff at me. I think all the herbs from all of the world come into me through the nostrils down the throat. I lost my appetite because you thought I might drive round the crescent to fetch you at 8:30 drop my hat, take you to work, did you stay up too late? oh no, did I should rescue you? I am not that me, anymore. it's december, let's get up. this is pretty real, in me. growing back your bones, we see with it in them now.

what can't I say?

when I have all of the words? your songs make me butterfly in all of the tips of me. the rush of paper wings in veins. I am so in love, all of the time, & with everything. here I sit, in unionbay tee, with hat & frenched braid through the hole, listening to a song that MIGHT make you happy, MIGHT make you cry, and we both be nostalgic. & still we never, ever, ever meet. I have the regular liquors, the cocktail, the bourbon, the herbs from your crying garden. stay here! you wail, shirt longer than your shorts. but of course, I have to go now. but why? you cry out, as I pull those plump little cherry tomatoes from their vines. bye    bye