vitality gets dispelled by a plan, yet planning is expected and encouraged. i wish we could release our blueprints more readily, without fear, to the wind stirred up by a rising sun.
jackrabbits jumpin through my mind, skippin over all the traps all the dips all the trips, go rabbit go, don’t you let this crazy world get you down, tuck those ears back off the breaking of the news, follow the good path you’ve been given for to choose.
stay up all night
worship the moon
run endless b-flicks
you either can get past whatever you did in your past, or you cannot get past the past. today feels sorry for your tomorrows.
the maybe 7 year process
i once had words for concepts i no longer carry words for and i wonder where those words went, or did the meaning of those concepts change, or did i change, or do i simply use language differently than before? the hardest part may be finding a place where i can work and provide for myself while i locate myself amid internal recalibrations. then again these places do exist in my country where struggle and effort are appreciated and that will join you in your own locus, however exotic, with curiosity.
a half-sunken bridge spanned a boggy marsh and every other year or so someone from the adjacent towns there was lost, never to be found. boundary lines were redrawn which made the bog a sorta no man’s land and no one had to claim the dead upon their land. children were outlawed from crossing the bridge and when they grew into teenagers the bog became a common hideaway where adults rarely looked. were they to be sought out, they would not be found. for those who wished to be left alone would never be seen again. only the bog and the bridge, and the sky kept the secrets.