Maybe a Parable

I feel like yesterday, actually,

actively,

is that which it supposes to be.

It's so far away that,

perhaps,

the distinction doesn't mean

as much as I may think it does and

it feels disparaging.

Nonetheless,

I don't care so much about all the times

where it's too quiet inside

my head as much anymore and

not enough when i'm distracted by apparent

reality.

I agree.

I don't get it

either.

Score another one

for this life and all of

our abilities to potentially

be

participants in continuation.

I've been told by

someone supremely important 

that

tomorrow doesn't exist.

I believe more than I do, did, and

when I don't want

or agree to now

be being tied down by

some circumstance of

existing

in spite of such exquisite consideration.

Another

Today, there's a cadence 

that's not quite right.

I may be more wrinkled now

so the sand just remains right there where

it's only taken another year for me to

fuck around and find out

somethings

and

I'm reminded of the old sand pit

on the playground of

San Luis Rey Elementary

and the clay

that I wanted to believe 

was dinosaur bones.

Maybe, at one time,

I might've been the lead pelican and

every time, at this time, 

that I look to the west,

they're all in lockstep

confusing me, though

I'll like how dispensary questions

are asked and realize good things, so

damn, here again is a good 

place to smoke but

I wish that 

they hadn't

padlocked the

portashitter.

I'm on the right now bus

passing all the places

I wouldn't mind being at again,

wondering,

what would've happened had

I walked this way today, and

is nostalgia organic?

Something made them say 

"I'm glad that I had 

something to say about it" and

it was really important to see

a sign marked 

'trail [is] this way'

sometimes when

there are places where

you're sure

to be wrong and

here we are,

survived.

I've looked at these trees

before they were important

as they are today or

in this unimportant moment

where the shadow cast

by me

feels good.

Kids smiled and waved as they passed by.

View From a City Bus

A girl wearing an inland bikini bottom

fills up a nice newer cheaper car at

the more affordable valley pump with

another

who wasn't present

while still being there

and

neither of them noticed

Home

You can tell the way

the wind here blows

mostly because

all the palms

only lean one way

Nostalgia

     One of those days, when I was in Slovakia, I hung myself out of a window of a proper taxicab, too loudly singing an unexpected track that came on the radio, and one I still sometimes enjoy now but certainly loved in that moment, only just enough to continue staying inside a car that might maybe take us somewhere we wanted to be at.

    Turns out that the southern bank of the Danube appears differently between its day and night times, remembering me to feel optimistic, since I can, actually, see those lights and the river so longingly reminding me then of which direction to head toword, eventually. 

  

    

Shouldn't

Patchy Marine layer, beauty before rolling in like one of those great lakes. And there is an end out there, where I'd like to visit, maybe again, though I'm not sure where the hell two-hundred and seventyish degrees will find me. Even less so now that even the break is obscured. 

I won't disappear with it. Not yet. Not even if I'm loud enough about it.

Not as if it matters or will, or that matter is a pretty good word to use every once and while most things remain good in moderation.

Things appear ominous and those may be part of the reason that I stand and watch the fog instead of diving into it. Also, the water will be chilly again.

Objectively, I regret earnestly enough. Inshallah and it is what it is.