Swollen and questionable,

but that sparkle,

man, that motherfucking sparkle.

That tiny bit of twilight still remains.

Utterly parched at this point, starved, naked and exposed.

Sun kissed and still relevant – all part and parcel now.

Very much part of this desert and these ruins and definitely ready to be scavenged.

I am barely on two wheels,

let alone driving comfortably on three on these wet streets.

There’s no one in the passenger seat, but someone is turning the pages for me.

Biblical and transformative; the bird bath on it’s side,

a three point turn , THREE.

There’s not one snake in sight ,

the muffled light still gives us a chance go see

gives us pause,

but were not even close, and in some ways we’ve never been closer to the truth.

to the the peeking lights, to these able bodies.

Squinting through the closet slats, even if that means we get a tentative view.

and in some ways, I still am still here

I am still

I am THEE.

Surfing and sometimes forgetting

occasionally forgetting,

forgetting about a brand- new something.

Offf the cufff,

and barely breaking a sweat; even at this breakneck speed.

Still surfing, and still somehow forgetting about all that extra borrowed time,

with really nothing to look at along the way.

We’ll occasionally still find the words.

We probably will find the pictures.

but we don’t look at it ,

even then.

at them.

If we don’t look at it,

we wont go,

with nothing to look at,

we cant.

They’ll start swirling around,

shuffling amongst the waves , moving

telepathically and just like a spider.

Right across the face of the painting, who didn’t mind,

right across the driveway, we didn’t even mind.

Dodging the incoming mortars and tremors before plunging perfectly,

into that perfect green water

into that perfect green wave.

Whatever sounds these are and whatever I am realizing

just now,

and how important it is to set an alarm.

How important I am

To drift and to wander, aloud.

about the outcome of the Gulf States and of the outcome of Brent.

Tell me about the ships coming and going,

Tell me exactly what happened to Brent.

Avoiding all the frog’s form who let themselves in

and remain there

unattended

on whimsy alone.

Somehow they’ll tiptoe around all the and garage door sensors

and still have a better vantage point than I do,

I am , however obstructed by two metal colossuses,

I am, however, those two metal colossuses.

what an excuse!

I would hate to get the spacing wrong!

but we cant even hear the dripping of the oil

or the blaring, boiling sound of the electricity.

We can hear those frogs whisper though,

and then the dogs gently bark, and then they obediently go back to sleep.

go back to sleep.

There’s something about a balcony,

suffocating someone , sometime

dividing the two, most of the time.

Across the canal lies paradise…

not even an inconsequential view from here,

but there’ll be fairies to indicate your in the right place ,

if you thought you were looking out there

and somehow got lost

they are whimsical flares;

dropped pins to remember it by,

broken pinwheels to temper your expectations;

dancing just beneath that earthy smell,

dwelling beneath this balcony and that crowned molding;

in and around the cracks in the ceiling.

Ducking under the high shelves,

(I’m paraphrasing)

so full of themselves

so as to not knock any of the plates down;

so as to not interrupt.

(I’m interrupting)

I keep seeing cat eyes whilst I drive

it comes in clusters

blurs, even.

They are not the passengers but they still see me .

brake right in front of me.

Thank you for the scraps,

but I may go blind tonight,

there’s two moons already , but barely.

Still the exact same amount of stars, so maybe we are safe for now.

I’ll be in concert tonight,

I’ll probably convert tonight,

whatever consolation that may be.

There’s not necessarily a name for this, but multiples of 9 would be the easiest way to get

to the bottom of it,

I always knew those the best.

The contract expires in 2027; even though the honey never does,

the milk does,

but we don’t drink that anyways .

now it smell’s like kerosene,

drifting with indignity in and out though all 7 circles

articulate , or not.

All 7 are pressed against your ear at once

and finally there’s a break,

but we can barely hear it,

let alone see it.

so that’s where we stop right?

right??

Your hoping one at least one gets through

sneaks in , between the Kevlar and the skin

quietly , out in the savannah, dressed in a big hat,

….probably .

It picks it’s head up, but barely .

That sluggish feeling takes over,

it persists,

… probably.

The fog that settles in fills in the margins, too.

It is magnetic after all, clinging to everything , too.

Those same spiders that bite have names now

and they crawl all around us ,

making various movies

in cursive,

in absentia;

in our bathroom;

Settled in Paris; like royalty.

praying they don’t get picked up,

just waiting for the rain to stop.

t looks like it thrives

around the edges

][around the margins]

but there are no gusts here

and it still roars by,

and if it could , I wish it would still rain.

Push my knees all the way back;

so I could feel it down the back of my neck.

So I could see it all the way upside down,

feel it all the way down my throat,

taste it / AS IS.