by the time the leaves finally decide to fade we
are anxiously awaiting the cold
the change
the distance
as the weather undergoes its hormonal swings
the kind that will never change
the kind that doesn’t love you like it used to and
while it may love you still, some of the time
fall is just faking it because it knows that’s
what you’ve come to expect

the rocks are stacked too neatly
to be put there by nature
surely some old civilization with incredible
technological capability came and used a crane
or at least eleven pulleys and wrapped these rocks in some kind of hemp rope (i’m sure it was hemp) and hauled them in to place
one after the other

sure sure, we’re down stream from a pretty neat lake we named after jim (gem?) but there’s no way the rocks could be worn down this particularly neat

right? i mean. right?

anyhow the hike was pretty though especially because
these rocks are stacked so neat

the things i want are attainable
but perhaps not by me
and the timelines i want
are theoretical
at best

i should stop
with my whining
and get on with my fixing it
so shit can get better and i can sleep

until then
deal i will not
cope i won’t
but carry on
i guess i’ll
carry on

mostly sure we’re doing it wrong
that there is a way to strive less and
feel more
happy
content
satisfied with how things are. i’m mostly
sure we’re doing this completely fucking
wrong
but

because i cannot extract myself from
my culture
this time
this place

well

i guess we should fucking do this
put me in coach.

now as much as ever
(more than ever?)
to stop and think and write
poorly if we must
the world has ended. art is no more
the machines can fake it with words, rhyme, rhythm
better than we ever could
a limerick for free. this theme
these words
that meaning
instantaneous
fucking free
sometimes damn delightful

and then we lose our ability to pause
and measure
is this what I want?
how would I know? I can’t write it down how do I write?

doesn’t something else think for me?

this. this gives me more money and more freedom and more go right now
but in the long term less money and less freedom just go right now
be someone’s bitch? there are advantages! or no one would take it

be all the someone’s bitch? but what if it doesn’t work? what if it fails?

more important than ever to write it down. to face my fears. to find that
then I write it out… I’m scared a shit

why won’t the AI tell me that?

and boy does it hit hard
when suddenly the years of pent up
stress and rage and fear and hope and anger and
god the stress
they find a home
a place it can stay
and thrive
and maybe have a future?

a future not completely fucked up or literally imprisoned by the justice system

and the tears start. sadness. hope. relief. hope. fucking relief

and you cry and you cry and you cry
but because this was the best

dear god let this be for the best

we did everything.
we could have been perfect.
but we’re not perfect.
and you’re not perfect but
there is hope

and the tears flow.

the morning brings stress for a time of life
being wished away
instead of enjoying every moment
cherishing it and living it to its fullest
instead you know it inevitable does pass
so you hope your body holds together long
enough to get
through to the next phase long
enough to see
the other side can’t possible be worse

don’t stop to smell the roses. head down.
eyes forward
press on
don’t give up hope even though you know it’s a ruse
for fucks sake, why are the days long and the years even longer?

it hurts me to think i’m stuck using this language built for precision over poetic nature. perfect for history books, math, and logical arguments. lacking horribly for rhythm, vague nuance, dualistic meaning, sing-song tones, or painless alliteration.

somehow i am born in to a world doomed to be obsessed with poetry and devoid of a mother tongue to make it.

the world burns
and don’t ignore the fact that the world fucking deserves it
that motherfucker knew exactly what it was doing

yet i’m sitting in my very not-metaphorical hot tub
late
in the evening
gazing at the flames off in the distance behind the show-covered trees

and i’m happy damnit

not with the outcomes. or the fires. or the inevitable impending doom

but with this. right now. right here. things are fucking good. and fun. and there are so few moments where my own shit isn’t on fire i simply must take what i can get.

even death cab can be enjoyed with a smile.

it’s weird though.

and the history i’m listening to on
japanese war tactics during world
war two is depressing as hell even
though there are some good things
to be learned from the chaos. nuance
is hard to hear or learn tho from a
sufficiently bad situation so instead
we write it off completely which feels
better morally

so i go back to work and i put my
shit back together and i
bumble along till something
happens to what i own but cant
make go
make it go for forks sake

tonight we rise up
i dont love the reasons
i dont love the means
but i can no longer stand by and wait
non-violence is ignored
my neighbors kill, and i refuse
but i cant fault them

weve been killed, displaced, in the name of their god-given right

it may just have to be
like this

—

it’s like hawaii. they have no right to it. but theyre there….
we have no right to this
but conquering isnt new

though it may be passé

they may not like it and i can both understand why,
and fight back. you kidnapped my family, my neighbors, you meant harm for harms sake

loss is loss. i get it. but

not like this.

you throw everything in and go for it
pack it up and ship on out
and settle down and make friends
and fail
at what matters
and you sold all your shit
because you thought it’d work out differently
and now you have to start from scratch
even though the decision was
obvious

settle down and make friends
it’s not failure
at what matters

I hop up on the ledge because when I’m up here I can feel

and then harness
the potential energy.

i’m afraid things are too grim
to believe you’re there watching
but not yet bad enough
to plead to you for help

i’ll avoid the fears
and push them down and just hope for
the best
that this change isn’t actually happening
it’s all going to be just fine
if i ignore the problem it will go away
or maybe i was just overreacting in the first place
give it a few more days. a few more weeks.
everything’ll return to normal in no time
it happens to everyone. no need to panic
i could but i won’t but i could

give me long enough in go mode
and i’ll lose my ability to do anything but go.
i can put my head down, i can crank.

with the right attitude i can produce anything at breakneck speed

anything but art

and the rise
lacks shine and polish and that’s
okay for me because I can’t
realistically brighten everyone’s
day when for some of the folks on this
call it’s very late in the evening

park the bus and checkout
to narrative not mine, distracted by comedy

you are making these
choices and decisions and
holding these values you don’t
actually want to believe in because
you’ve surrounded yourself with people
undeserving of respect and you’re building
a fortress of sadness unsure that a shack
of happiness is a thing that can exist
because the long you’re in the
company if these people the
less clearly you see

i hope they’ll say “his prose
was better than any of you fuckers
dared to appreciate in his lifetime
so do your part in his death”
and then stare with a straight face at
the audience who came to mourn
and giggle on the inside as one
last
terrible
inside joke that wasn’t really funny