Clean out purse. Rub Lush
Breath of God on wrist. People
watch. Tweet. Post. Kill me.
Long layover, Part 2: Hour 3
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Clean out purse. Rub Lush
Breath of God on wrist. People
watch. Tweet. Post. Kill me.
Where does time go? Clock
hands a band-aid over the
wounds of past regrets.
Finding new homes through
Amazon. Not selling. I’m
aiding adoptions.
The man who fell to
earth left us too soon, stardust
in Major Tom’s wake.
Inside ease comfort
outside unpredictable
so hard that first step.
With a ticket comes
hope, and since I’m ticketless,
I’m hopeless and lost.
Dandelion seed
responsibilities float
away on each breath
A’s dream–a fairy
cottage in the woods–simply
too good to be real.
Like a dorm room on
four wheels, it’s a place to get
drunk stoned laid changed sleep.
Forgotten summer
umbrella aged by winter’s
wig of heavy snow.