for zorro after lunch

head sleepy
eyes droopy
ears floppy
i love my puppy

simile

this day
slid away
like a dead child
on a slide

fever dream

in my dream
fear became a tangible thing
like a heavy boot
wet brown mud
black wax
or heavy white blankness
and my mouth filled
with its thickness
hot wax
blue powder

and when i woke
it dropped out of my dream
crawled into bed
lay down heavily beside me
tangled legs
hairy arms
and swallowed everything

scratch

i am
much obliged
to sharpened
pencils

accidental mosaics

i wish i could paint snail shells
with purple swirlies and crimson splotches
and send them out into the big bad world of garden paths and flower beds
with their funky new walls
which a careless someone would crush
with a shoe or a slipper or a wheel
and leave an accidental mosaic on the ground

they

tired i am.

lots of inversions these days too. bad sign. when the language starts to walk away without looking back.

you're supposed to be a certain way. they tell you the opposite. but it's just another mould is all. they expect it. secretly. without knowing it themselves. so can you hold it against them then? what of those who should know it but don't? how are you supposed to feel about them?

so here are all the pieces, in random order. figure it out, they tell you. do the labour without the sweat. never let a bead show.

embed this in the very grain of your person -- loneliness is pure. it is the only purity you will ever know. everything else is far too fucked up for there to be a sliver of a chance.

it'd be pointless to try to change it completely. the toes with cracked nails will still show.

go with the flow. or so they say.