Of Gods and Mice
Open my mouth
starburst spray
I’ve loved you for centuries
you never felt it
like the purple chez
that crushed velvet so plush
it feels right to run your hand over it
or revel in the crunch of boots over fresh fallen snow
I picked a basket full of moon-glow for your melancholy
place it in the corner
it births a milky way
I cross over to pull you out
drag you by your feet
back from the dead - back from Herod
Clean your track marks
ripe with infection
bathe you in rose water
dry you
pack you up and send you off to try again
and again

Still I Write
Try to make sense of the data
all this input
no output
where’s it all going
cuz I got nothin to say
and nothin to give
Yet I keep pullin it in
day after day
Instagram after Instagram
this uninteresting
batch after batch
of people
I don’t give a flying fuck about
what they’re wearing
where they flew to over the weekend
I’ve got a mortgage
I multi-task at least forty times a day
trying to do things that I can’t
but have to
cuz what else is there
Still I write so much
as a dumbass clock
that’s broken - it’s right twice a day
Somewhere in this gibberish
has to be something
of interest
some inspiring words
of wisdom
that will later be on
a Facebook post
under a daisy photo
some shit like that