something about making meaning anyway
despite the tech between a feeling and its expression
be it: Traditional Art, as my students delineate
or premiere pro, where I spend an hour
adding echo to the word bloom
Morgan Wallen’s melodies…enchant?
me, thesaurus.com tiled with
girls in bathing suits
morning ends and details
get remote but
tonight I’m good
with however much sunset
reaches my frame
he sings bloom so it falls
off [the chorus] from an amazingly
low height
a different he said he didn’t know what to say anymore
but I’m glad he said that and the sun
wraps my left eye
the hot and the cold are separate but do mix
Alice says, cancel each other out
we said hot fudge sundae cranked
AC with the windows down in
summer
when the waymos turn the corner
a void, where anyone might put a song
dream the dad of him, he, who was 2 people
was doing exercises, copying me, or me him?
I’m a little Alice pilled, disobedient
slept so classic SF cold air to
touch and dreams tinged
with said hot fudge
of course language
has its own barbs plus
I’m a slow, two fingered typist
meanwhile the jackhammer outside
Ouijas my emoji selection
If this is a diary
is it worthless
like life?
