There's a bastard in my whatever and a human in my skull. Sometimes i'm poisoning a mixed drink and sometimes i'm gulping water. In various minutes luck twists the knot and i wiggle into a when who wants a why. luck is like a dice tango with whispers and big drums.
can't stand on the hill when the hill is your nose
however rough we may be i see humans with pillows on their palms, boxing their brothers and sisters,
laughing wildly in windy cul-de-sacs and trying to hang on the moon.
in my childhood, once, i felt a sadness with existence and it became a seasonal allergy.
i try to sniff daffodils and get tripped up on daisy chains
keeping kleenex in my pockets
till one day i find a happiness that makes the sadness good
then i'm
(again) a moon, biting into my curiosity with cheshire cat razors
chewing up the tick of a clock
drooling into morning
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