Writing

It’s not because I don’t try

in ,

So it’s 8:48 PM at night, I’ve been trying since 1:30 PM to paint, to write and to make medicine. To have a day to myself. It still hasn’t happened. And it’s not because I’m not trying. I can’t even finish a cup of coffee without it getting cold like that. It’s not boundary issues. It’s responsibilities. And caring for others, I know I need to care for myself, but it’s not that easy. Don’t judge or deconstruct me. O, and I even said no to several things asked of me today.

His Day

in , , ,

ICU

all night the bells and whistles letting us all know 

death is just around a corner

she see us in our blue and white hospital gown 

ass to the wind//fuck off world// 

and it's never beautiful

tubes probes and all manner of violation

bring me cedar and spruce maybe a can of gas

a blow torch and a bottle of gin

i’m on the ground Low lower than that Buried

beneath all the decades and regret 

i wear this battle like a shawl

i am mist and disappear then reappear

pacing the halls Walks to the car 

for my flask for Hashish for sanity 

Gods help me i can’t do this

i drift or sing through time zones 

perhaps tomorrow i will speak or  move

i have become granite submerged at flood tide

i cry and the nightjar comes

i can lay here for hours days seasons one million chapters and still not see a waning

or have an understanding of why the Angelica fades too quickly