My regularity imposes itself on your most highly esteemed foot, twice or once I’ve been in danger of receiving from you that dirty look, or have I mistook, from over that book, and admiring-ation for a disgruntled, hook-like shadowy smirk, plastered on a muddy red-eyed normality-embracing blank canvas…I took from your book about politics, that soot only need mentioning once to make moot a noble reputation, a pure discomplication, a kind word, backwards, and destroying reason for condescension—
That your eyes could speak less, and your heart more.
That your breath would create less condensation and be a lovely sensation to hear.
You’ve created the perfect environment for bacteria to fester in these temporal canals,
these sound channels,
these hearing animals,
these listening mammals.
I am watching from my window sill fearing for my life.
Singing about my tired eyes, humming for my nose.
Watching and waiting, watching and waiting.
My garden is an eternity, a forever plastic spring. Softly hold my sweater babe, it’s chilly and I’m fickle, sweetie. And only touch my toes when I’m starving for it, but it’s always you and I alone know it. Heart!
Our simple mouths have always been awful at metaphor.
But our simple lips have never needed it.
But honey, sometimes I get so bored.
And I adorn my lips with it.
Sweet and sticky.
But syrup on me just feels so sickly.
Does it look it?
But now back to the cosmos….
So writing with your left hand is hot stuff. I renewed my battle against non-ambidexterity and decided to multitask by learning to write at the same time. Mostly I’ll probably do train-of-thought and go with the flow. But yeah, I’ve found it’s much easier to rhyme, and write (loosely speaking) poetry, with my left hand! Pretty cool stuff. So I’ll post that now.