Your original ideas are worth more than their monetary value. Live your own life, stop being so stupidly obsessed with someone else’s. It’s just ugly. Unless you are lovers, then may you forever enjoy your mutual obsession
Your original ideas are worth more than their monetary value. Live your own life, stop being so stupidly obsessed with someone else’s. It’s just ugly. Unless you are lovers, then may you forever enjoy your mutual obsession
Sis I looked up The Pleiades were missing In their stead blank pages appeared
I thought Knossos I thought Ian Francis Venus in attendance
I thought it rude of us to remove His beautiful bow, his sure arrow
I wondered what was he holding in its stead
what quantum foam What geography with what kinds of feathers does he fletch
I took my spoils and left but it lingers a bit
the smoke from an offering bowl
and a question
come here, slither, I’ll curl around your leg i’ll teach you new names for old things you whisper me yours
we keep only what’s relevant
i studied the sacred art of fire tending i hide its secrets in the folds of my skirt, feeding it bits of moss and elm bark
I think about nibbling on your ear, your neck
You were blue light then winked into nothingness you became the very thing that repells me
you waterproofed yourself
but you know because i know it doesn’t feel right
we strangely adhere we fit, we join, our strange and vaguely inhuman ways
the measureable universe gained a half a second in that very instance— did you know that?
i hold it carefully in my palm
i promise not to crush it i love it too much
Hi sis
my numbers for today include:
$56 grocery bill a nearly full charge at 7:03 5-1 Real Madrid vs Salzburg
an upset!
3 snuggly stuffies 1 round calico ball 1 patiently waiting book of puzzles
i forgot how many hugs But here’s one I’m sending into space (((hugs)))❤️
heart always on my sleeve a little something inside a nameless glowing thing
all potential and grit
eyes the color of unknown stars hair made of solar winds and invisible traffick
when you slingshot back around can you pick up my fox, my books, and my set of keys?
2 weeks again til the moon gets her courtyard back
Jadzia Dax,
I ran out of words that mean things I don't know if it's sadness or love or if these things are one in the same
I thought Tundra I thought about the Eagle Huntress I thought about digging for gold eggs
or maybe I mean burying? either way I exist in a kind of twisted limbo
immobilized by something stranger even than myself
I watch movies and wonder Will this matter in 20 years? Will I, to anyone?
The Tomcat Murr drifting theough leaflets Like they might actually mean something
But they never do The only real light you can depend on is from Your cat
The way she keeps forgiving you for spilling her water and not changing the litter fast enough
I had 2 lemons in the fridge when i left They weren’t Meyer lemons Their scent sealed in wax
Were they only for painting? what does the world see What do i see that is different
An alien, avian, a bit of a high-flyer I wonder if Hank has a little somewhere I am my own
i miss the grass and insects especially i wonder what is happening with my RNA, am I a Henrietta somehow?
really we just all lie awake alone with our free cable and clean sheets and sushi dinners waiting for free coffee
the chance to emerge from our prisons or escape rooms sense at least the presence of another
somehow make these single-serving rooms into a semblance of a home we add our scent to the collective
the last time i lived in a hotel i had divorced this time somehow i inch towards Bethlehem
with cat and bell and backpack
