Super was the moon and animate the trees; the winter winds arose and bled right through my clothes. I was dodging in and out a moment right before your eyes, yet you were tracking down to daydream. Be very kind and stay alert. This is how we survive.
Good morning world, today it will be partly hysterical with scattered tear gas and a good chance of healing the narcissistic wound, by appearances, anti-Trump and replete with overenforcement of law, and disorder. the wild-eyed tatted up boy from Dublin will enter the Octagon in the square, Madison Garden, while a New Yorker agent of real estate assets makes moves on the Oval, the Office, bearing fruits of the violence of free speech, talking of violence and violence of talking, while the political correct find themselves bundled and floating, sucked slowly into space, drawn to the supermodel moon. the lights of civil rights are mostly white wandering place to place, eye for eye, martial arts mixed and in danger of falling from grace.
My dreams were full of life, i found myself resting when i got out of bed. i coulda done nothing and felt accomplished, i mean, much had happened in a few minutes of dreaming. i put on the radio and the drip on the coffee grounds. i brushed my hair then combed it. my medallion was hanging off of the bathroom light fixture, so i took it and dropped it over my head. it was warm on my neck from the heat of the bulb on the glass of the light fixture into the metal of the chain. in my sandals half-awake i sliced my toe on an old chest i am using for a coffee table. i watched the blood drip over my toe it was tomato red and made me feel good and healthy. i cleaned my toe and wrapped a bandaid around it, then fed and encouraged my tomcat out back. looking up i saw the brilliance of the almost full harvest moon. turn off your porch light. you won’t need it tonight.