Look little mossy deathbed, the pinebox sycamore soul does not quit. I had a temporary appointment, I kept it, I took a left, and then. And then.
Electricians shut off power. Rain goes straight down, and sometimes sideways. Night makes it dark, and dark makes it dark. So sometimes you sleep, and sometimes you wake, and in between you walk, and sit, and stand, and push out your chest and, your head down, you crave that good lovin’.
From dirty gray branches the spring pushed a thousand green heads, and the hummingbird every morning this week has finely chopped the air like grinding coffee. You’re a dinosaur. No, you’re the dinosaur.
Nothing sticks out into the courtyard. What was it? Maybe a zippity flash from a frayed wire, zippity. Oh, my neck hurts. I hurt all over.
Yesterday I found a half a chicken sandwich. Chicken and I, we are good friends. Some days you’ll see us sitting on grass. Sometimes rain goes straight down, and sometimes sideways. Now, just let me rest here a moment. Just let me rest here.
