When a tremendous hand reaches from the heavens to slather the tips of the trees above my house in warm butter.
a young man sits to write a poem with a joint and a beer like the poets he likes so much the point of the joint and the beer he thinks is to get very high and then to ride this highness to uncharted waters . . . but after an hour all the young man has gone is his chair the empty beer and the roach sitting there with him as if to say I’m sorry your highness this is where the ride ends
While folding laundry I forgive every past lover for all the hurt they caused. Just like that they are absolved between the folds of flannel sheets my boyfriend hates says they’re for lumberjacks not gay men I forgive him too after the laundry in bed together as he forgives me for all the harm we are sure to do each other.
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