Honeysuckle

 

The honeysuckle is invasive here.
It was choking out my air conditioner
With its overwhelming childhood nostalgia
So I hacked its head off
Its arms legs feet
All that is left
Are oozing stumps.
Brutality the only solution.
It’ll come back.
The roots are too deep, too strong.
Honeysuckle smells sweet
But like a fixation
If you let it
It can overwhelm your present.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

Phases

 

I haven’t been writing.
I’ve been fixing up the house.
I only write a little at night
Or when I must.
We go through phases
Like the moon,
Like teenagers.

It seems we can only improve ourselves
In one aspect of our lives at a time.

I want to fix everything.
Fix my health, my house, my job,
Keep up with friends,
Achieve sublime spiritual happiness,
All while writing three books at once
I want it all.

Ah, but we can’t have everything we want.
We are bound by the confines
Of our too-human bodies
And time itself.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

 

Empty Self

 

Empty self
Empty self
Mantra is to empty self
Pull your feelings off the shelf
And pour them down the drain.

Nobody needs that shit in their life.
Nobody needs the nasty voices
The gut punch of insecurity
The sharp ream of loathing
Nobody needs that mean little chewing creature
In their heads.

Some people don’t have mean little creatures in their heads.
Instead they have burning skyscrapers.
Some people are trapped in a crashing plane,
Or whole self sunk deep under quicksand, waiting for a breath.
Some people have something inside them so damaging,
They can’t even bear to look inward.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

Simple Things

 

This is kind of silly. I barely remember writing it.

 


 

Life is a cold flowing
Unassuming
Concatenation of lifestyle choices.
We mindlessly move
In the direction
In which we were pointed.
Is there more?
Who cares?
We can feel the wind
We can see the green
We can laugh
We can chew
We can do anything.
There is hot tea
And warm cats
And somebody to fill your water bottle.
There are toilets to pee in
Women to love
Men to admire
And creepy dolls to burn.
There are books to read
Books to write
But maybe I won’t start tonight.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

Coral

 

Fields ringed of blue

Curly coral

Catching waterlight

Refractions of the upper world

Circling an abyss

Inside the center

Down

Down

 

Down

 

Silence

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

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