departure time too present.
estimated tax payments interrupting all flow.
the sun laughs at my assumptions
it will be here tomorrow.
phone calls put off begin to encumber
like too many items on my quest.
do you hear that fellow AD&Ders?
I’m shouting out our pencil modifications
in the custom online convenience age.
my stomach is uptight
that I haven’t packed or posted yet.
my tummy is angry that I’ve neglected
my core training this afternoon.
invisible ink is a mindfuck
of a literary device.
I read truths spread out in the void.
claim myself in parts. connecting to what’s shared
without conscious knowledge.
I can feel the pain in a line’s turn,
in a subjects’ struggle.
this is an aside: the cure is telling me
to listen to their music
with my junior high heart
and let this push be.
the creditors are so clever,
making my debt concrete shoes
in the land of freedom.
didn’t have enough time to let my parents
talk about their garden.
there’s a huge list waiting for me in the future.
it thinks it’s funny to bug me now about
haven’t processed confederate history month
enough to go there.
the tour I haven’t even planned
has gained another day of not being addressed.
email response guilt hits me now
and I’m a gangster stereotype
professing it ain’t personal.
while the insecure I believe hidden
wonders which relationships I fucked over most.
is my silent phone a signal of my wackness,
or my lack in giving
towards the paths of others?
if I let myself embrace the toltec book I’ve been skimming,
I’ll remember this is wasteful victim attitude.
if I invoke memories of physical therapy,
I’ll deal with this more actively.
still haven’t started scanning all them photos
I promised my family I would.
I hate red eye flights and connections and
acknowledge the luxury of these complaints.
I’m not trying to let you down, guam!
I swear I want to share on your shores.
tell the stock market the gold standard
the currency exchange
to stop messing with our ability to do more
than feed its hungry asshole mouth.
I loved witnessing the happiness
in another poet’s eyes yesterday.
ain’t really that all-over-the-place. just not
as three act traditional trained as I been.
oh, I love where sci-fi has taken me.
pay the price of its allegory gladly.
knew I could get myself typing
once I committed to share.
where was this ability
to resist being consumed in over-thinking
when the judging blondes
were in the audience, taking notes
with their laughter?
if I haven’t tagged you,
it’s not about how we’ve drifted over the years.
at least my poop didn’t come out forced today.