today might have been
one of those days
where jokes are as funny

as they are painful

what can i say
when i want to say
too much?

i should say nothing

instead, i listen
to you waiting
for me to laugh

until i feel comedy

playful punches being
laid to rest, softly
slowly on my head

100 words.

i do things that you do not
lick fire off my fingers
pick the lint off my face
i do them every day

watch it burning all my prints
satisfied with the loss
of whatever they told me
i am

peel my skin
to find out how old
i am today

grow and regrow
without end

i am not so old
that i have forgotten

what i might
have forgotten
though i might not remember

the breakdown of
a single
inhale
i count

my last words are these

my last words are always
the same

i do this every day.

cold things.

tonight, when i'm in
the shower before it gets hot

walking in the direction
the clouds are floating in

in my dad's old silk shirt
faded green and white

thin jail stripes
think of his death

which hasn't happened yet
but will someday

think of how cold it is
and how warm it was

this morning
when i was already clean.

behind the red marijuana moon
a trash bag makes love to a tree
branching out beyond its plastic
boundaries, bobbing up and down

what can you do
on nights like these
when the wind tickles
your hair growing out

the dandelions are gossiping
and the sky looks smashed
and no one cares about you
or how you bruised your toe

no wonder you feel so lonely

but really, you just need a kiss
from the nearest drunk person
whispering to you about how
today, nothing really matters

either way you go.