on predestination
there is no plan
beyond just this:
bees for honey,
flies for shit.
on predestination
there is no plan
beyond just this:
bees for honey,
flies for shit.
no one prays
to the god of
sporks except
drunks at KFC
& even then the
slaw goes every-
where but home
outskirts math
+
first fall morning:
driveway cat unfurls
beneath Ford F150
-
sauce, sauce, squirrel
Cadet Cub circles
battered apple trees
x
morning splits air
lawn gurgles sludge:
septic tank leakage
÷
across the creek
my father's razor
rusts in silence
tree on roof:
squirrels scurry
as chainsaws growl
a drop of ink
spreads out
in a glass
of water;
a log rots
in the woods
& the universe
expands in
whatever
cradle rocks
the universe
to dreaming
while babies
sleep & light-
houses break
beneath waves,
salt drying on
so many cheeks.
my third grade teacher
mrs. nelson was right
that nothing can
brighten your mood
like a good scratch-
n-sniff sticker so
maybe give one or
two to your local
neighborhood blow-
hard but not the
poop one because
jesus what kind of
message are you
trying to send?
the rich these days
want a new gilded age
yet have nothing
but trailer-trash tastes
with dollar-store
bric-a-brac
spray painted gold
shoved in every
conceivable space
& their hearts are
as empty as the words
that they weave
building temples
at Narcissius' feet
yes the sunset
is beautiful but
so is dog shit
yet no one
likes my selfies