friend

I hope you'll give me one more chance,
to picture the storms in glasses.
the wood grain is more than enough,
to feel or to taste.
for a night or a week.
with you beside me
we can be only
    ignore the great uncertainty
that rages beyond the door

life is a landslide

pure imagination, this could be the sunset you wanted pasted on your patience
sweet hallucinations of a fence bent around a world
such much mystery neatly solved and folded by the door
hot intoxication, could make the machinations stand for more
make believe things stand for something
then make you throw up on the floor

what a bore
what a fucking bore