post heavy whipping cream; most of us will have died

unsavory bone sore
dehydrated probably
i put on "an ending"
thought i might feel better
but only remembered that i've felt better
when i get home i promise to only imbibe energetic kindness
of green juice grown close to where i sleep
for a couple days at least
not that it matters
but maybe it does
in some small way
just like i've found some small ways to be more comfortable
than most of my blood relations
can't imagine fearing potential lovers' mother's opinions
maybe i'm too worried about my own opinions
at dinner tonight i turned to my cousin
and asked her to imagine us fifty years from now
i looked around and realized most of us will have died
she said at the rate technology is going we could be on a different planet
i imagined myself speaking fluent swiss german
a late life immigrant with exotic children
all blonde

by the grace of god go i

feel like the rug is always being pulled out from under me
or maybe that's just the wool being pulled over my eyes
wondering what this small bit is
that keeps interpreting the world
as something else acting upon it
how do i hold this--

i am the keeper of something delicate
will tread softly on my own thoughts
that way everybody wins

Bodysong Part II

I wake in the darkness
to my heart skipping beats
and it seems nothing can cure me
but the lull of a familiar melody

under closer investigation
i see myself facing the unknown
emotions expand in my chest
of sizable weight and unknown breadth
and i wonder, how long is this going to take me?

i turn towards an old song
attending to familiar territory
with blood on the tracks
we'll run over comforting sound waves
how old is this place?
how old?

I dream of haunting houses
making visits to an apocalypse cliff
i live like this world is my center
even though it's sun that holds me together
whenever I tell myself to keep it together
i'm just pretending to hold that weight on my shoulders
makes me feel important