You can feel his pain. I’d get it on with him, but he’s always in some kind of world all to himself up there on the stage, the smoke from his ciggie swirling around his head like a curtain, him alone in the fog, part smoke, part dope, part isolato.

Oxnard. Sour blueberries, a taste like the lake water from the little pond in the house where I grew up second. I’m getting better at fueling my body, not good, but this city-town is beautiful, beautiful and distracting. I’m trying to be more in the where that I am in.

How could we be so different than a velociraptor
If not even worse
Eating our savior
Stop
Don’t think of it that way.
A wasp
It stings people
And it’ll never tell you why because it’s a wasp and it can’t speak

The first time I saw the moon was in my father’s fingernails, the soft crescent hills of calico calcium reflecting the moon I later threw rocks at. I found my guilt in his fingertips.