world full of plastic

the greens are alive

and you know

only turn red when

you’re not looking

 

red is a just a mask

for how they really

feel

 

blue

 

in a world full of plastic

you would be

too

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wall flower social

may the social sphere

be elastic and expand

without cracking and breaking

off

falling like an icicle

killing me where I

stand

in the meanwhile

i got my couple hours

a day good medicine

in

writing my book

making out with words

the tongue kissing was the best part

the audience swooned

by the character studies i

inhabited

inhibitions were wall flowers

garden variety virtual

open microphone affairs

magic

life becomes tolerable
moment by moment
it won’t ever be acceptable
in analysis

life won’t ever add up
to any magic number
it won’t hold in retrospect
it won’t measure up
to any ideal

life falls apart
then regroups
life is never the same
always changes and

cannot be predicted
by forecast or made
meaningful

no
life is unkempt
windblown
bedraggled

life will not love you only
you may love life
for the moment
you are lucky
to exist

typewriter.15

one morning you sit down
to your work with your coffee
beside you and

the tides have been broken 
they have turned on the ocean!
this is what you came for
so suddenly
emergent

disciple to words
the reading
the writing

the sea and the healing
fresh atmosphere replaces
the ceiling! an absence of the world
you recollect so unfeeling

your voice is upon you
you’ve found yourself! finally
the struggle is gone
you no longer push into page

strangely awakened
enveloped by an undercurrent
you sing the song you were born to sing
you come thrashing to surface!

like faith
you cannot see it
you only feel it
you know

these are the moments a writer lives by!
when time loses interest
appetite gone silent
and the sentences form on their own

full of spirit!
making meaning
full of feeling!
with rhythm and rolling

you collide with the page
like a strike
when you’re bowling

thank the stars
thank the gods
you got lucky
kid