today I am a stale biscuit,
difficult to chew…
Poetry
heat radiates from the base of my arm
when I raise it…
How does one follow
the sun to survive…
You don’t need a muse,
what you need is at least
one person you go do fun
activities with, visit the zoo…
Write drunk,
edit clothed.
You can only process….
Every good story should include:
a dream sequence
a pineapple, or alternative …
Plant your feet
to withstand the waves,
the one constant
is there will always be another…
You ever
see a poem
and whatever
organs your sternum
protects drop a foot…
I have a little
invisible backpack
hovering behind me,
when I can’t handle…
Sometimes it’s okay,
to worry about something you hear,
in or out of context…
