30

You know how sometimes

The love of your life is snoring

Fully asleep beside you

And you can’t stop thinking about

Pushing a 1.6mm needle

Through the most intimate part

Of their body?

You know how sometimes

One time

You live out your first full day

As a thirty year old person?

You know how sometimes

You don’t want night to come

You don’t want morning to come

Because it will break the bubble

The tender bubble of time

Where you two are all and only

Where questions and trials are held

At bay?

Advertisements

Shied 

I’m drowning in the sound or

Maybe I’m just fucking drowning

In expectations

In my stagnant feeling brain

In my fleshy fleshy flesh

In cowardice and denial

In my lack of self control

Tomorrow and tomorrow

And tomorrow

Is such bullshit it’s

Such a fucking cop out

Today is it

Today is fucking it

I promise on my bloody heart

I fucking promise on my ghost

I won’t magically be better tomorrow
Today is it

Today is really really it

auto motives

It’s been an extremely long day. Went back to the junkyard at 10am to pull a strut out of a dead volvo. We ended up pulling two and then picking the one that looked better. We forgot to bring a breaker bar for added – bolt removal – leverage, so we scoured the fucking junkyard until we found a random hollow bar-shaped piece of a truck that worked. From there to a westside pit stop, and then into Rio, for piles and piles of laundry while performing car maintenance. Grease and brake line cleaner and laundry detergent.  Heavy metal clanging to the ground after long minutes of delicate-but-firm rubber mallet pounding. Selecting the delicate cycle and cleaning the lint trap. Soldering severed electrical wires in the brake system, remembering to add a dryer sheet, kneading chemicals like clay to form a polymer and then spreading it over a sprawling crack. And while the adhesive set, a trip to the store. A trip to the store where I scored a new pair of cheap-but-comfortable tennis shoes, along with a few food style supplies. Then pulling piping warm clothes from the dryer, and adding a layer of industrial strength tape over the polymer patch. So strong it pulled at my skin in a way that threatened removal. Finally a shower, and into clean clothes, as the last of my junkyard garb swirled with suds. A quiet hour on the couch with my parents, watching nothing and trying to write and helping my mom with her computer. Four trips to the car to load everything up, and a long drive home. A long drive home with no squeaks or creaks or sputters.