Relative notice to the fact that I
Pine and scramble
Everything I do
Until organized accord, is satisfactory.
My own allegiance to the multitude of filing.
The Mental Library + Staircase
Casqued in the bounds of the
Double-helix of Time.
Somehow my soul chose hardworker.
Regrets, laments, and shames.
Guilty while I rest next to my love
And the bear hug wakeup usually receives some un-directed nastiness.
Utterly bored by prose and the bored is what
Stews board and wishes for another x-accord or game or two.
Almost 24 and life is boring again.
Then I get excited about nothing new every 2 or 3 weeks..
Personality-blindness as if I didn’t know myself that long ago.
I waited about 5 years to be honest to air the truth.
Childhood continues and observations and life-lessons still in the
Aural vaporous cauldron
Of which I’ll shit out a new poem or prose anyday.
All my boring shit got ribbons before.
I hate the bow.
Now I get Bounty.
petrichor - archive 