Outside Upside

The trees are not

skeletons they are too

beautiful to be skeletons

the leaflets in their hair

old and informative

(this is winter they say

this is cold)


focused on the 

comings and goings

of Cummings and snowings

and wondering what I did

to deserve this


Love in the Real World

There’s a fly in the woods who’s in love with me. It’s a bit annoying, all the buzzing and hovering, but it’s affectionate. It’s trying to kiss me but it doesn’t know where. It’s so easy to be loved by a fly, out here in the woods: you smell like slick sweat and you are a bright stain of a tee shirt in the dark, like a god of money, of industry. Your are industrial and the fly loves the way you were created. I want to be loved, and the fly loves me. You’re not secure until you’re loved. You don’t mean anything until you’re loved. Love someone, love someone. But I suppose a fly cannot love like a human does. It’s trying to kiss me but it doesn’t know how. It loves you because you are not the same, but it doesn’t know why. It doesn’t attempt to. It doesn’t really know who you are. So I had to break it off eventually. With the fly, I mean. He was too clingy and I’m not worth it anyway.