Half moon-

Half-

Half way there, at least.

We aren’t watching ourselves.

We aren’t outrunning anyone,

which doesn’t exactly inspire confidence,

in any particular cadence.

No seven gun-salutes,

no standing ovatations,

but there definitely is one,

there is some.

there was one,

a sun kissed center of attention.

But were still not entirely sure we aren’t swimming with parasites each time we put our head under water,

Through the heat waves all the wakes the look the same and

the boats that brought them to shore.

We still aren’t even sure if those are even dolphins we saw.

and we wrestle with that every night.

Drafts are fine,

but never in All Caps,

never.

Obscured by that refreshing waterfall

and the re-runs in the waiting room trying to put you to sleep.

Adjacent to a fountain and definitely not a loch.

Assuaged by seemingly endless bromeliads

a royal tip purple at the spout, where all the fucking plant blood pools.

Gentle honeysuckle if your not looking,

regular honeysuckle if the restaurant is out of it.

It all stinks of chlorine and captivity .

Captured , drawn and quartered out in front of the fountain

by the HOA, like were in some film.

and now your DOA, in violation of you and whoever else’s CBA.

if your not directly under those bright spots,

or in duress under water or in captivity,

lay next to the solar flares;

drift upwards towards the canopy.

Both are reaching out to tell you something,

both ended up calling collect;

maybe it was something about volition

or maybe it was something about the gargantuan

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??