the mission to war streets (rt 8, Butler)

oh these days aren’t equal. today is one long well oiled banister, steep on these stairs, left to my imagination. can’t keep counting backwards from the edge. another queer anxious response. nothing is hidden. watch out. the ego will lie, coaxed into relevance.

do the alone parts alone, and the together parts together, even if you haven’t allowed it to dry upon your cheeks, even if you haven’t allowed it to cook to a stickiness in your mind. (worship anyway) its just a change in plans, take your willingness with you .. take that risk, even if the lungs won’t breathe.. start again

an external voice, sweet food, and internal denial. a hand on the revolver, what have I become. maybe you wanted me to see it there. in a place I didn't think to look. you are not forgotten, remember you saw me first. traveled those miles with me, dressed in those contradictions.

I wonder which part of me remains.. cause you I recognize, and I am full of secrets. you asked if I were dying the way we passed away to each other .. the calloused way I turned my head, but I remember things about you. my favorite things, shattered like a mirror.. changed like a forever and a never, that name you agreed to be. all those miles.. and the filth of my destinations. they don’t follow

it isn’t parlor doors nor is it reasonable to expect.. shaping my ear, still all these days and the death of friends.. it still remains.. like white cheeses and dark german breads .. (worship anyway)

Art credit: Michael Kenna — -One Hundred and Seventy Five Birds San Francisco 1992