it's not good it's not wet like the underbelly of a petal
it's not green it's not pregnant there's no bliss
and now matter how i turn it it takes no highlight
plants no shadow

i wonder if left alone
if i walk away
it'll unfold and break into itself and just
be, and be alright


large withdrawal

there's plenty of time to be late
so why not stand in the longest line
turbocharge my zen
here #3 of 5

poor teller
awful undeserving teller
a throwaway moment for
everyone here

want not waste not
is that applicable?
this place is a cozy wreck
there's ample space to suffocate
in a stampede 

it's my party i can cry if i want to,
sigh if i want to
die and i want to

my life in the line
actually feels fine
#3 of 7 now
moving on up


o frost,
you call, imbue
my skin with deadness that i may not
touch the grassy softness of spring,
my mind with veils of ice that i may not
know the birth of joy-giving birth that i may
settle into familiar dark alone-making rest

for long asleeping keeping
still, and in stillness
stay, and in staying 
seek the signs, without seeing

until i can regenerate in reverse
and arise dream-divested,
hollowed, hallowed, starving for the onslaught of life