Posts for June 8, 2025

I buy journals,
lots of empty journals 
knowing that I can’t die
until I fill them all up.

Tongues stuck out to paint
The mirror a blank canvas
Two gigglers erupt

I have nothing to offer but

alarm blares
bleary-eyed, up and at ’em
Saturday be damned
I’ll feed and walk the dog
while you sleep off last night’s whiskey
so that you can enjoy your day off 
and I can go to work
yet again

it wears on me
like fingernails on a chalkboard
like the droning of nature’s car alarm
you know, the one that only goes off every 17 years
but apparently lasts for 6 weeks without end
and the only buzz I have this morning 
is from the dying flying red-eyed tree-rats

Behind your eyes I see a storm brewing

Turning dark with need, an endless ocean swelling with thunderous waves

Threatening to pull me under

And when the mercury ultimately plummets

I brace for the impact

of your body,

crashing into mine

Walking, holding hands,
on the shore of dementia.
Not there yet, but we’ve
started releasing balloons.   

People think letting go
of the world is tragedy
but the sweeter rose blooms
as the sun goes down  

I know where the full moon drops,
where swallows chirp in the brush,
in whose yard the first snowdrops grow,
on which roof robins warm their toes,
where they bathe in spring,
where crows bury their scraps.

My heartbeat slows down, when I smell the ocean surrounding my home island. 
I adore the view of the beach, and the mountains framing my old house. 
The newly built orange house I left behind when I moved to the city, against my will. 
I smile when I notice the little cracks, in the roads we drive our cars on. 
At least on the few roads that aren’t made out of gravel.  

I cannot go home. 
Our guests dig holes in our lawns, and shits in them.  

I fucking hate tourists. 

my poetry;
cleaning tidying organizing streamlining decorating fluffing and comforting my den, my castle, my haven;
sleep;
rest (while awake);
my to do list is a
a jumble of rice
falling off a plate
trembling atop a rolling ball.

instead of asking others “please don’t ask any more from me,”
I will ask my mouth to protect my time.
(Ready?)
“I can’t right now, sorry.”