November 27, 2019
Apathetica
Soon there will be practiced emotions.
Soon there will be auditioned obituaries.
Soon there will be choreographed life.
Time released predictions will guide us through our days, not unlike
traffic lights. Our automobile replicas, rituals without a firing pin,
rubber knife murders will grind down the teeth of our spontaneity.
And we have already begun to enjoy it.
November 26, 2019
my tiger maple alone
on a ringworm
life is perfection at the end of the ego
worshipping happiness
the color seeking someone to paper
i am life and work and smell of curry
November 21, 2019
Dearest one, you were
I asked you where the love goes when it is over
I am saddened, my love
The day I knew my dad would die
I called
in the cab to Brooklyn, sunny headache
afternoon
you were on the other side
November 20, 2019
A cigar— cherry-tipped at the creek,
iced fog creeping around an abdomen of bark,
echoing acoustic vibrations under autumnal skyline,
post-shift luxuries pacifying being amorphous to society.