Sunday, June 3, 2018

soup or love

there are a few places to be
in a day and it’s a phone
the day is a phone
the garden is a moment
seldom chosen, the garden
is anything that isn’t a phone like
soup or love and that
could never be a day

staring at the pink wall
my vision filter is
water damage

the eyeballs lament
those little lines
the brain falls around, banging
it’s coiled weight

and it’s night

I fucking like knowing the time

when it's lit up
when its late or early
I used to have a clock
lit by the moon
or something always
making it clear
buy a watch I write
buy a watch I write
the same shit
every day because
I never do it
because a watch would
crowd my grandma’s bracelet
and what better time
piece than the heirloom
get a watch I write tomorrow
into my water damaged
notepad and I actually speak it
but no one sees
these greasy hands on the day
the lavendar on my feet
time could be the garden
if you hate yourself right now
or later
try kissing the inside of your wrist