i wake to a mouse on the windowsill

all tiny and enlightened-looking

chase the cats around as the coffee is a’brewin

tellin ’em, i don’t want nobody to get hurt

they leave it alone

now i read kerouac by a single lighted bulb

get inspired to cook a lumberjack breakfast

waitin patient for my lovers gentle consciousness

the river runs west

she sprints to the ocean

is she blind to her wholeness?

no, she is neither ignorant nor vain

keeping the meat of her dirt

her beautiful mud-dirt

wading where she must

allowing who she may, unto her

occupied by much and by many

still offering herself west all along

no betrayal can spoil her fruit

for if you drowned, it was you

who got caught up

anyone coming near can plainly see

she may welcome you

or not

but she will always

run west

drugs that melt

hard candy

summer

mirrors

55mph

red

text messages

keys that jingle

friends who bail

the weight of ice in a styrofoam cup

sniffles to say you’ve been crying

brown paper bags

too tight dog collars

pretending to care

sweat behind the knees

maybe we should drink

cigarette snipes (floating in a styrofoam cup)

hypocrisy

lies

tattoos that don’t stick

overeating

gas money

muggy afternoons

pity party

climbing trees and falling

when does falling become jumping?

see “intent”

giving up

flickering kitchen light

fifty cents

hunger

there is no right or wrong way

sometimes, title night

others, maybe not

we kissed on the floor

I said you taste like chemicals

I think she liked that

some days you may float on cracking ice

and know it.

that’s alright, I guess

one day I’ll be strong

fuck, I am strong

I am learning and grateful

I’m grateful for the ability to grow

I’m grateful for my able mind

surprise

birdsong

fingers to write with

words to say with

I am saying words and enjoying it

i am present and grateful for the sobering today

Do not fear creation, child.

To create is a gift of air herself. Breathing life unto.

Do not disrespect the elements.

Who raised you?

Well…

Numerous bodies came and went

Until I was no longer alone but with Myself.

Not drained

Dried up

Often I live a life of otherness. Each thought, fleeting. Each choice, brand new. I am dancing poorly and alone in our kitchen. Space 101: Northwest Music Radio. Holding an unread, paperback Dharma Bums in a right hand,

I think of dipping instead the skin of it into the coffee's boiling water. Just to see something. Books and people say they do shocking things just to feel something but I know better. They do it to see something.

See if they can, see if they mean it. Mean something, mean anything. I wrap my hand around the hot mug instead and hold it there. A dampened alternative that shouts into a hollow stump, "You never meant it!"

She comes in, giggling at the sight of me. Goggles hiding my eyes, boxers hiding my scars. Lounged about our kitchen stool in the dark, holding barefoot my mug. She kisses my nose and leaves me there.

I ponder this, if only for a moment. Predictably fleeting. I wonder if she is okay. When I kiss her I often miss her lips for it is teeth she truly bares.

I showered the stiffness out of my hair this morning. Seattle hit a record October cold and you're playing on your phone again. I can't help but yearn for the things I do not know. What am I blind to today? Who will I be tomorrow?

Surprise will not devour me this time. A digital gift to a wave of chronically bored recipients, you capture the beauty of your face in one hundred single moments. Maybe I should write about something else sometime.

There is an uncertainty rooted in my shaking hands. Am I to start preparing for a predictable hurt? Am I to stop? Both are naïve, drowning or wanting. Show me middle ground so I may know peace.

I'll find comfort in the sound of the space heater on the hardwood. We don't have toilet paper so we use socks with no mates.