Seems about as Good an Ending as Any

https://open.spotify.com/track/6oIF4CygktMOqRkrwmGFa4?si=WTpbWT5XR9O1Zr2ZebMlzw

Regrets

I wouldn't change much, but I'd have
liked to have done two things differently:

I'd have made a boat with you. & I'd have wheeled 

an early morning soup cart along with you for the 

hungry homeless. I'm sorry I didn't believe these 

things were possible or good ideas. I was wrong. 

They were good ideas, and fully possible.

I see that real clearly now

because I'm seeing how utterly possible it all really is

progress

...and today we sat in an excavator and talked like real serious fools about really serious fool stuff, we're inventing, planning, chuckling, and trusting God to keep us wise. hung out in a grungy van on some camping chairs, ate some almonds, decided to squirrel together.

that's pretty huge and beautiful and strange and good. then we amped up our huckleberry ragamuffin goon squad and jumped up some bricks and sat on the overpass, and spit on cars and you dropped your crock down into the road and we waited a whole 20 minutes to go get it. You have a good attitude. You don't care what other's think. You played that song, of the cow poem that started all of this, at the open mic, just cus, casually... I never want to go back to awkward pier icecream, ever again. Thank God we've remembered how to be humans, and thank Him that he's never to be doubted.

I thought of you, it should be said. I cried a tear sitting on the overpass - because I loved you like this once, too. It was true then, and alive true now. This seems where life has brought me, and it's most magical and right, but how strange still for you to not be in it.

seems bout right

suddenly my huckleberry dream boy is in my grocery store in the neighborhood I grew up in, jokin about eggs with my best friend, with the dirtiest fingernails, and a dislocated shoulder sling, and the merriest attitude, and positive outlook, and sweet tender innocent goon tattered rags, and ernest desire to serve orphans and widows, and do well by others, and for some reason, he says I'm great, and gives me a hug, right there in front of the kefir, and I think maybe I could love him.

A very old draft I found here, from September 4th 2016 (Verdict: I was right)

Twice now, I've looked into your eyes.
something magic was shining inside them, like your iris's themselves were grinning wide. But I caught my breath, because as I continued to gaze, I began to worry, and wondered if I was actually just seeing the light of stars that had already died.

I searched; my voice saught to find your inner parts, but...
perhaps kinfolk friends is all we ever were intended for.
You're like a mirror to me, reflecting much good, and a bit to question.

I just really hope my stars are still alive and burn brighter w/ each year, and their warmth grows. I wish the same for you, but I doubt our lights will meet anywhere in the cosmos, more than they already have.

I closed my eyes and held your hand, and it felt like we were running through the twin towers, so many offices and stacks of papers. Perhaps they've all already crumbled, burned and become ash, and it's silly for us to pretend like we can still go all the way to the 100th floor.

Plus, I never wanted New York.

this day

maybe someday i'll write about the catalist, but for now, i'll just leave this here to help me remember

Chanel is in the bed, half asleep.

"Oh Darlin' It's your full moon tonight," she says, to me.

I get up from beneath my blankets, "oh, I better finish writing my poem, then." I sit and type, and stare into the void of space, and feel and think and taste and cry.

but then she tosses, and from her stuper says: "will you get inside my brain and write one for me, too?" 
so this one is for her...


I looked
so deeply
into you
like a whitewashed fence
in summer sunlight
you glowed
too bright for my eyes
a nakedness
nearly too
glaring
twinkling
shimmering
shivering
a white cold light
it turned
shone upon a black wall
is it fair and silver beaming,
I can't tell now
the eyes of my heart only hurt
exhausted, scarred and scratched
they used to see all form and focus shape
so trusting
but now i ask
if they ever even escaped
the shadows at all
were we ever even outside
on a boat speeding through
the windy waters
feeling splashes on our face
of freedom thrills, leading onward
perhaps the gutter held us all this time
we both wanted the sea
in this our sinus touched
but now the fence is dark
and grey
and projects a dimming shade
upon downcast conscience
eyes wondering how
a blinding light
could turn to such a
dusky haunted ache