up

so many bugs in your hair to wake up in

a goodmorning place to be

shake the leaves out

shake the leggies out

iridescent wingers

green shine

morning muscle

in a back all taught with tough

morning tuft, curls
shake my halo

smoke hair halo

wave smoke, docile eyes

bee dance, twirl

such a shorty

mourning doves

all of the others in matutinal jam

singing for summer

and overcast under outside bedclothes

I can sleep through the night, now

I am a furnished hole

a piece of finish, sometimes

suspend it

not be disbelieving

Dear diary, the sun is shiny through me, from windows... oh! the moan from my right! A matutional cry-out? Whence! Alak. Ohhhhhhhhhh kay. so Here, drinking coffee, thinking about the jobs, the jobs, the jobs, the collie dog. And My mind wasn't made for such stuffs.

on dying

Good work we, us. The matutional song lighting the road and my own mind wandering along with the ta-hoo, ta-hoo, ta-hoo of the singers in tallest branches. Letting the pink-tufted trees guide me. Taking the mind out of everything, not letting. The things never to say. It's too late at night to let open a mouth, set forth the ends sharpened. With only the strength of a gentle beast on me to warm me, the memory trying to drain down till gone. But too much doubtfuls.