journal entry

a sunrise gazette on the kitchen table
you sit staring eastward, running
long fingers through garden dark
thoughts, hair,

swamp eyes
not on me

the wind blows diffluent through the open window
rustling past the empty cornhusks of our skin, our hearts
lampooning my earnest reaching

the kind that never makes it past my nerves
to move
my hands

bucket list

he wants to drive circles around the block
he wants to drive fast

(burning pavement until he gets out of breath and the sweat is pooling at our feet)
we lost five and seven pounds respectively

climbing up Everest
-- or at least to the base camp

the dehydrated chicken curry and spaghetti bolognaise
was never meant to nourish
just to dry up our tastebuds
and suck up our hope like water

I Made A Book And This Is What It Looks Like (feat. my dog)