Justice for the Sun

I am here

to do justice for the sun.

I threw my shit in the center of the lake yesterday.

And I sat and watched the water accommodate it.

And it told me and showed me, no matter no matter.

 

I am here

to do justice for the sun.

So I happily threw love in the center of the lake yesterday.

And I watched as the water rearranged itself.

And it told me, no matter no matter.

 

I am here

to do justice for the sun, I think.

We all burn within. No matter

the solid or feeling, we can actually

do no harm, the lake says.

 

But the lack of difference we actually make is too hard to handle so we bruise and manipulate it so that we can see that there is an effect. No footprints, no lies.

 

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?Here you are

Hey,

I’m writing in order to show you the order of the way this feels to say. I’m thumping and singing and teeth slightly ringing and face is itching and I’m forgiving this day.

I woke up befuddled, my hair was all muddled, the woman outside screaming, “bitch.” I took it upon me to sit down and draw me the reason I felt so extremely gray.

And here’s what it’s like to wake up in the night, confused about who you are. It feels like a dress that was put to rest on the floor. It’s beauty is only the memory it holds and the day it danced to song. It languidly stops and the guests arrive slowly and take off their spongy visage.

So this is a day, like a tier on the cake, when it feeds for finality. The thing so pleasing that holds so much meaning is never here to stay. And there I go or here I stay, and it’s still today, always today.

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Layers

It will okay then-

stare, a nighttime of pretend

care and come back in

side to shelter your

self is away from the dark

 

She rolls up her sleeves now, ready, prepared

 

Lying back and wistful, submerge the

putrid corner into holy water,

’tis better to stand than sit

’tis better to sit than stand

away from the dark

away from the light

 

She is prepared!

 

And here is this day

that never began and never

ends and here she

is thinking thinking thinking

where is she thinking thinking

thinking whether or not to try this

and that but this and that is the bread

and butter and the vanilla or chocolate

and the artist or slave

and there she is standing, no sitting, no standing

and the foot trembles

with a mind of it’s own

and there is no path,

only thinking thinking thinking.

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