.

The porch wasn’t heated, but it was privacy. That’s all Scott cared about. But he didn’t want to be a bother, too. I knew that.

Even when I glanced at him, I felt guilty. But I could see it in the way the moth-covered light glanced from his neck — at least it was something.

Today it is just objects —

.
There is no love,
There are no serene vistas of clay
Offshooting the mountains with their savvy,
.
These things have
Blended with the colors of nectar
Before the lotus sun and
.
Now in twin worlds
We reach for what is right before us,
So that even the Danube wonders
.
What time it should roll in

The stillness

That befalls all of us
In introspective situations
Played down by deity for
Life’s unfurling foreplay
.
Eats solely
And wrongly
To attach to stigma
As we hush under the din
Of the train
And call this progress
.
Until
With hushed skirts
We curtsey past lights
And hounds no
Full scent passing,
.
Many panicking
Having noticed
The blank squares ahead
Marked with black numbers on white paper
Denoting pallor.

Didn’t your mama teach you not to go around there? Everything moves in congruence, everything has light. Look for the old man with the withered face, who leans back and looks at you with the tired gaze, this is where your food will come from, and not because he likes you. The oranges will come up on this tired old earth, and when you look up at your mama, at the sky in the year washed-away, you’ll know, you’ll know what you’re in for.

I was on the moonlit side of town,

Walking fast to shirk the janitors’ buzzings,
With situations down the road
I knew I’d need to quell with marijuana
And the plant in the corner
Would
Take a breath and wonder why
Life just stopped.

By giving us all this death and killing,

By
Insinuating to us
.
All
This shrapnel
And rock and roll,
.
They are begging us
To believe that nothing matters,
.
The toggling, revolving Man
In the sky
.
Is putting full faith in us
To function under the proviso that
Nothing matters.

I am flagging,

And they are flagging,
.
I court the tiny turnstiles in the sky,
All painted yellow,
Neon,
All painted purple,
.
The bishops stately with a forced forbearance and we
All learn to fear our own heavy heads,
.
The Santa Maria the resident shiny object.

Is it possible for a human being to be perfect?

Only in love.
And Iron and Wine said,
“Every mouth sings of what it’s without
So we all sing of love.”
And even now,
As I consider love
I am sitting alone
With a Schlafly
And so it’s a myth,
And there’s another beer called Dragon’s Milk,
But this is more like what the discussion associates,
Dragons beastie with no choice but to straddle life’s opposites,
Skateboarders olliing on the poles.

Wanna live to the fullest,

Then you don’t do that,
No you don’t,
.
Because if you had that quality
Then you wouldn’t know that it existed,
And what’s written upon the mighty hills
Is that
.
The miracles already happened,
Life has expounded,
Permeated and retributed,
And you’re lying in wait,
For when you’ve given too much.

So much effort is placed on transcendence,

How do we get out of this place,
Let ourselves free,
That we forget to be present,
We forget to hold hands and live and let live,
Steady our hand,
Let the paint drip down on in for seven hours
While the satellites watch us
From the itchy sky.