they're tearing down the cabin today

how to ever know which are your last days?
last days at gayulz
last days at work
last days in idaho
last days in love with someone
last days of health sex
last days of new carpet, scented oils
last days of cabin

It's really coming down now
  we were trying for the lake
we're sitting on the sunporch
  in the cabin
Nickey is taking bed still-lives w John Shinn's camera

It pours on the tin
  I will never sit in this room again
    at the round redvinyl-covered table
  windowalled room
choppy lake

 the contractor came by
  asked what was left upstairs
beds, I said
  he asked if I was going to take them
    "it's all gonna get munched, anyway" he said

 why would the universe say anything to me?

urge tinged else

prettylittle, 18

Now you see that I’m tired. Foregoing and urge tinged, altogether uneven. True feeling anterior, sitting on the old voice. Altogether disheveled. Blue without my primogenitor. Mauve, bad or good, it all coming across time, lineage, family tree. Sectional sofa, sounds the same. How I’d like to move to taller roots. Looking at the loneliness. The good way, anthropophagous, is muted and I probably will after I tried once, I say. Remembering with solemn description of the upstairs, talking to the night with him more (alas, I thought, a final time), annoyed at the human flesh (his). Soonafter I return to erasing his opening (such of the soft human beings), and cannot be heard over the hushed chicago. And from memory, he beats of recognizable song. The direct opposite of conversation and rhythmic tap, tap, tapping. Maybe I will leave with me.