We read Rilke’s “Archaic Torso of Apollo” and wrote poems about changing your life.
P.R, O.R., rippening grapes.
What we do better than anything else.
Quite frankly, nothing is almost always better than the something we could have.
Chasing the wind is all we are up to.
I’m wiping the toilet seat with the doily of serenity.
Tooth fairies. Tinkerbell.
If only the world could be under the control of Walt Disney.
May the masked man of the orange cleaner come flopping to your door.
Death is the only sense we can make out of it.
Image of the death reflection.
Looking good. Looking really, really, really good.
The carrot is in the yard, and it’s coming after us.
Pass me the wine and the superglue so I can simply close my lips.
The hand grenade of reason is upon us.
I wish I was better than the worst of you could’ve been.
If only I’d run charging for the bank, then all could be complete as it should’ve been.
Seal the scroll.
Tiptoe to the crush of nothing.
Remember the dead, but bury them there.
If only I had this one simple thing, my problems would be solved.
Pass me the gravy, to douse with the onion.
Why do we always have to be so finely tuned vegetables?
I see the torso
As basic me; still
I want to release
And be moldable
Remove my old defenses
The core is good
but alone inside itself
Which might be archaic
Tired and Sad
Afraid to breathe
[Feel the new days breeze or
Love a pretty smile]