Friend. 
Hear my hope.
Take off your helmet, and
hear the nightbird cooing above 
your shoulder, perched on
the highest branch of your favorite tree in
this stranger’s backyard.

Look and see your friends… conversation drunk…
book smart and painted by invention… 
…they love you, and you love them…in this moment…
at this time…always…their nonchalant approval of
your creative oneriness will save your life again and again. 

Blow out the candles on your cake, and let everything go.

Do not worry about smelling nice…
perfume owns your skin,
so you smell good and fine…slow down.
Taste the eggs, please, before you swallow…

Tell me, this…is it dew or sweat that dresses your skin tonight?
Now go back to the punch…before someone loses a sandal.