loss three

another loss -iii

I was in
between pages
a book without
binding

You let me stay
with you
one night
a moment’s notice

we were friends
our lives derelict
unusual

the music
the midnight
oil

bands like us
cannot make it
no more

traded street level
stories

left out
again. in the sunlight
soon to be
exposed

before dawn

you were kicking
back. i was several back
packs deep to and from
Magnolia street

several unsavory characters
wanted a piece
of me they
could not catch
me

thank god
for this
bicycle…

south of uncoordinated

headlines. worrylines

Being rather tired I forgot where I was going and lost my way, and tasted the tongue of confusion, pitched along to suspension like seeds in a raspberry jam,  a name stained by headlines,  a lengthy thoughtful smoke. They would never find me here. The worry lines began to disappear. No use frettin on gettin nowhere when there was a fire to be made to boil water over, and keep warm by. I mapped my memory tracing lines of your facade with the heel of my boot, in the shadow of a hanging falcon’s talons. They scratched below the eyelids shutting out the light to protect us. We would find a plot of land and marvel at the countryside. When clashing on the ground in the air in the water under the earth, your mouth might betray you. Best to stay silent and wait. Still, you’re too much, you know. A little south and uncoordinated, so near, so dear to me. Sweet like sugar.  – Katya

journal entry

Journal # May 29th

The particular oak tree had an attitude. It could see parts of the city skyline the others were not tall enough to catch, and it’s attitude was thoughtful, some say jaded. Many families were memorial day licking ice cream cones below, in its shade, and the lines trailed out the door. There was a guy against the sky juggling base ball sized scoops of ice and cream, who lit up at night in neon, and more than one little kid wondered why the neon could not be turned on during the day seeing how the store was open. There was no mistaking the store was open, for there were lines reaching out to the street corner where the tree above was branching. It was memorial day and American jet engines could be heard overhead. The jets could not always be seen against the sky, above the guy and the tree, and you could hear the sound of the crosswalk beneath the jet engines, when people pushed the button to cross. Sometimes when no one was crossing, kids liked to press the button just for fun. The oak tree saw it all. The sugar in the ice cream and freezes was also responsible but could not be blamed. You could follow someone home simply by the dotted line of dripping.

soft padded manipulation in a bold italicized continuum

May 25

The daily life enhancement initiative was set into motion and sprung forward like a tiger, claws retracted for non-violent approach and soft padded manipulation of the microcosm, as opposed to the previous quarter century of claws out technique for random slashing of enemy throats. Said outdated technique had really done a number on the psychosocial sphere, as folks don’t like to make friends with sharp claws and cannot see the kind eyes behind them looking softer and aiming to collaborate in a bold italicized continuum.