bearing in

my cut of the left
deft but poor, now slaughtered down my side
cut in and left
like scarring too subtle to see:

what mooring keeps me here extends around my city
like a strange weather pattern

I didn’t need that part
I needed you

beat me again

—-

morning

This is my life under the drum
ecstatic ruminative celebration of not a whole lot–

Everything’s a miracle but we’re designed to disregard it,
and a good thing too–

I can remember one thought
like God

coffee:

—-

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