INDIGENOUS SUMMER

this is only dedicated to parts of you
and everyone that comes along with
whoever that is.
let me explain;
I know I must sound like futureshock
to what's left of the muck in your way,
mountains piled high atop ego
under a murmur of murdered emotions
breaking heavy against the weight of a dying forever.

but who chose this?

it wasn't me from my wide open whatever.
it wasn't you either and you were there too.
all slackjawed, agape in astonishment. 
we threw glitter at midnight
to taunt the burning moon
and those embers never came down.
they just floated 
and glided like turkey hawks 
trying to make sense of things.
- we were trying
to make sense of things.
and somewhere between desolate isolation
and the pulsing throng of whirling enchantment
is a man I call myself. 
but he keeps losing shit
and calling it a virtue.
I've got to stop losing things.
I've got to start losing myself.
what is all this light if not
safe passage through darkness?
where are all these bubbles running
off to burst?
shake me in your snow globe 
magic eight ball where we got so high
we looked like Orville-Redenbacher
raining down over the city.

hot-buttery-precognitive-bric-a-brac.

it was me and you in a landscape.
we kissed feathers of swollen exposure.
and when the aperture tore wide open,
we marched like toy soldiers to the beat,
we beat ourselves up in the workshop,
then stayed up all night putting each other
back together. 
we were happy to just level the bass line.
you slid safe,
coming home in my baseline.
I trembled at the treble and pitch,
it was more than I could've expected.
and you told me to take the lighter fluid
out of my expectations. 
and we laughed.
because we both like stand-up comedy.