Life’s Little Misdirections 🥀🦋

The Hollow Trunk (for now) (MV)

annually we check ourselves
not because we want to,
but because
we see a world change
         out whatever window that begs
please notice,
or don't

leaves on breeze-strings,
know not what they do --
play like children
         as the one child
now living in the hollow,
stubborn trunk,
escaping with heat sent
with hope, dreams
from root dark --
         sapped by sky, channeled
to an ever-collecting sun

seems eternal, you know?
our existence is all of time,
the only remaining here
on the grass, flowing, dancing
begging a soul, rake it,
move it all to a cement curb
         the trucks come while you sleep

is this all life will be?
all i am is all i ever will be?

tapped, fall into that winter slumber
ignorantly reawaken
with the dull, ice-thaw spring.


10.10.23
3 minute write
15 plus minute edit (still not sure)



where the font stops, so do I
then, it starts up again
same as always ▼

why do they love me, hate,
love sparingly, ghost, touch me
in their game of tag
as I
react, deflect, protract, insulate
         but rebuild stronger
in spite, a more efficient model
seen only as the original?

practically all original parts of the machine,
inert, self-imploded, micronic
sneezes not sent
sealed in hypodermic space
because chemicals in air wouldn't dissapate,
reignite old feelings like ghosts
(breathe),
and you realize, she never died
because she never existed.

The one true ghost,
ghosted It'll be,
haunting something, only wearily,
never moans, never dies
(wanting to breathe),
peers through your night shades,
through vacant souls,
as the only unacknowledged,
inviisible spirit, tickled
by these brief leaves.

meh, doesn't truly translate
to the tempted