in which I try to leave, but am not able to pull it off

you are
a cigarette in a drought-yellowed
forest,
to be gotten rid of quick
the way birds flee from
forest fires that
only you can prevent
but don’t
 —
Finals week.  wrote something interesting but it’s in my journal at home and tonight I live at the library.
also. .. ..
 huh. tonight there is no also.  I really just want to shake my fist at my laptop and not do my final paper.  apply some good old Ctrl-Alt-Delete to my life.  (I think that doesn’t make any sense).
peace.
there’s a fine line between surrealism and pure pointless drivel.  I ate that line and licked the plate clean.
peace again.
I dunno why the word drivel always reminds me of food.  Rice pudding maybe.  Something that shouldn’t be liquid but insists on being so anyways.
last piece AH peace. (p.s.)?  turns out there were a few alsos after all.  And that word is underlined in red and it looks terrible.  The only things that should be underlined in red are the noses of gingers with really nice mustaches.  Surprisingly enough, even in this enlightened age, google will not get you a decent picture of a real nice, natural, bright red mustache.  Perhaps they don’t exist?
food for thought.
afterthought peace/piece/p.s./peas
I’m out.
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Merry Christmas Ya Filthy Animal

I know it’s

*sigh*
(we never talk)

——-


areglsdajgaldg my playlist pulled it up and I can’t hear it without thinking of you and come ON amy don’t make this more melodramatic than it actually is, but dang kid we used to be

I don’t know.  I don’t know what we were.

 

on a happier note:  I wrote this while watching Handel’s Messiah (I PAID FIVE DOLLARS, yeh, big spender)
maybe I should have been paying more attention to the music, but what can you do when your Blood Ink Content is .89?  I had to purge.   Also I am trying to think of a better title for it.

Delight
 

Reason to love life number
three hundred forty-seven
spectacular beards
the kind of foliage that would be
at home on a machete-wielding
safari guide beast of a man
the kind of scruffy fur
that gets up and
drunkenly starts a bar fight
your face is a scenario of
sage meets
bowtied hobo meets
wild jungle vine-swinger
I would dedicate my life to
protecting your jawline from scissors
from sharp edges of any sort
you are lumberjack
magnificence in the key of
something low
more than worthy of the next great
cinematic close-up