Carnival

Wird press this
I appreciate you wanting to get to know how it goes –
that carnival in my brain.
But you can only eat so much cotton candy in one day.
You’ll read this again,
and you’ll be frustrated again
I’m like a train that has the caboose on the other end of yours.

Keep running after your sandwich,
you won’t get enough of the cheese
until you do.

And then you’ll be sick
for quite awhile.

It’s okay dear,
only the strong mess around with my carnival.

Sool

You are the soulstice to my ever glowing nature. The soulutions I find in my everyday.
Your soulfullness resonates in my bones, that warm laundrified fuzzy blanket against bone skin.
How soulganic we are in our soulitude. You soulidify so much purpose in my being, that soulving kind of souldier, dedicated not to beat the problems, but to make them understood.
The absoulute of my breath, the consoulable feature of all teddy bear grub.
My resoulationial feats when I get stuck in mind mud. I’d stay in isoulation with you, fuel ourselves with our gasouline and live in the factual heat. That all of this means

you are my soul mate.

You’re Still Here

I think about you everyday. I miss you. I think about the what have I dones and the whys and why didn’t I and how could I and what was I thinking and in all of this, making some rational sense because sense without rational is like the national anthem without pride.
oh Life, I don’t want to disappoint you anymore.

Easy Effort

“Can you wind message me?”
he asked, with pre-drip eyes.
I was leaving, he knew
at the next sunrise.

I smiled so softly
even teddy bears would be proud,
as I blundered on a “yes “,
a “for sure “; to him this I vowed.

And so I would kiss the air
every evening and day,
wipe my miss tears on feathers
“I love you “ I‘d say.

What consolation,
to have the leaves wiggle back,
a grin on my cheekbones,
two feet on one track.

It wasn’t long after,
when the journey was done,
he smiled a thank you
“for the whispers “ dear Mom.

Race Track

The deep pitted ‘if I was avocado sugar feeling, racing around my blood track. Apprehensive little race car cells, being all cute and energetic. Is it better not to brace for impact? And better to embrace the nature of it? There’s beauty in the after affects but holy nugget there’s an oil tank of fear too. Why? Well. Car can’t go vroom without oil, right?