spooky poem 1

a wet itchy dock and a bark-boat that
will maybe be our vessel bound

for seams, slots for my pennyfingers,
weeping botfly holes.

i've been accepting my death already in dreams,
mom hands me white handfuls of pills.

swallow gnats mouthing in your voice
the fine gentle names for me that settled from the silt-stir.

i've just been looking for
slits to dip my penny painted fingers in.

lashing on heavy bundles to
be fed to the portal.

tenth month

i dreamed my cat dandy had kittens but something wasn't right and nobody would listen.  she had birthed two and i knew one at least was still inside but nobody would listen. i could see it through her belly skin which was milky semi-opaque like dough stretched thin.  eventually i could poke my fingers in through a hole in the skin and pull the gray mouse-sized kitten out.  things were okay then.

life is good.
though the day-job lately leaves me feeling like a half-thick undergrown fruit at the end of the vine that's decaying to a shriveled umbilicus.  stunted. 
i feel ready to feel the readiness to slip down another channel.
once i you know figure that shit out.

my energy is shunted elsewhere.
i meditate by cooking.
i day-dream about my good man.
i try to keep feeding my friends
as we meet in this day-waning landscape
amidst a variety of simulated warfares.
us vs. them in high definition.

how many good days do you think we'll have.

religion