I think I like that curls
are probably the only thing she manufactures. Ever.
I don't walk the space within
where the sadness dots the skin
but I'd like to be that kind of kin,
regardless of the weather.

Today is one of the days where I miss you really hard even though I'm generally pretty happy.

"You can't unring a bell, junior." -Tom Waits

something magnificent.

blinds and drapes, fines and rapes. Lost grapes in your refrigerator; I won't taste them.

the jeans are mostly stained with grass but there are other things, less present, that aver perception:::::::namely, your bodily fluids and oldest memories:::::::::::::::::your faces, changing shape and size::::::::::::::::::::thousands and thousands of digital photographicly emphasized longings.

A riverbed, soft with muck and sleeping sickness, narcoleptic nervousness climbs to new heights, which you avoid just in case the eyes cannot maintain their energiesuschrist,whenwillitend?

Masonaryo (Draft)

Subtle enchantress, your eyes are moving in squares and I care not to see where they land
might the distance between two and three break and take down the tyranny of idle hands
don't move quickly; feel so sickly sweet; it can be hard to breathe
birth your brothers; undercover, hidden by seasons and sleeves

If I had the time I'd have written a eulogy just for the sake of something to do
it's a story I'd write just to bore me, implore me please to be better for you
in the dregs of an unholy union transcendent light fallacies beautifully dance
in a room filled with fresh murdered flowers that wilt by the hour,
we've all had our chance to see.
To see.
To see.

Adrift in a sea of serious sleeping snakes,
A love so terrible it never fully goes away.

My life felt very real last night.

The Seeming Day

"It wasn't so long ago
that I professed a memory
of words catapulted weakly in restricted reverie.

smatch smarch smurchandise;
search in dyes
merchant eyes

epole htiw enoyreve
rof eht ekas fo ti?
yan.

subterfuge.
I'd like the walls to be cleaner.
New bedspreads and sheets; colours, painted colours in my mind.
But which colours are they?

straiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight and narrow.
poison arrows in my wheelbarrow,
gangrene thumb, bad soil, no fun.
pollute my eventide until the mourningtide comes.
yellow bristol hills
paper plasmic sun
stupid and elusive; in seclusion, everyone."

Former Underdog will be up and running (again?) in the soon to be past future. Emphasis on podcasts, but I will be contributing a lot of writing as well.

mmHmm!