a word I didn’t expect a drop of ink uncurls in the water

 

 

one paper crane on top of a larger one the body’s thresholds

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for no reason a song spills out of me as I recycle this cold grey morning

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walking between autobiography and nonsense I stop on my walk to murder the sunset

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gulping my drink like a man just found in the desert why can’t I be more like George Clooney

 

torn piece of paper with half a list stopped short by the old tree suddenly red

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24 seconds still on the microwave I’m getting old

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talking about back in the day the acid, the crystal, the breeze through the last leaves

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just three almonds in morning light I should draw them

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more garbage trucks clash clatter fill the land with all the broken things