Why isn't there a collective noun for Commissioned Officers of the female persuasion? A butterfly knows where she wants to be and she'll get there in her whimsy. The difference is that she's certain to have earned it.
I might not be the bestest companion on the AT next year, or ever. But, I may be. Expletive?
I've watched people walk right on down into the woodline knowing more than the eaches. It's some who enrich me. A smirk is always a lie and sometimes a smile is true so long as words are behind them. It's cardinal to me.
Next time that I need to properly sober up, a truther speaking aloud in my proximity could do the trick.
There are places where casual conversations are held without shirts on or eyes batted. I only know the direction of the wind because I was taught to recognize it before and the upturned leaves told me that today it is not going to be any different. For some reason those leaves on the west end of their trees have started to turn. They just might be ready.
It feels random whenever a bird or airplane's shadow overcomes yours on the ground, but don't worry, it could happen again. An anecdotal third of these appear as if this is serendipitous, a chore, or a choice.
And, if eyes can be piercing, he who I saw can let the lot of us borrow 'em. My shadow has foreshortened into Scooby's. Straight lines on my path beckon me to look aside, where it's better.
Anyway,
a little contrapposto in the master suite tub was the immediate remedy I precariously and apprehensively needed. Having faculty is no guarantee there is, too, agency.
Background Microwave Radiation lives mostly in my left footed little toe and left legged calf, perpetually. The rest of me and all of us, too, but it makes it's presence felt within me, for sure.
"Hello, I'm Me! We don't know one another but we've slept together that one time, in Nashville. Remember?"
There's been too many bridges burned, too few capital assets realized.
More swerving phone walkin' then that drunkenness of the literal persuasion.
I wish that I loved anyplace as much as Spose loves Maine. I believe, also, that "the one thing I really wanna be is happy." I think that, at least two times, there's been a chance of exacting penance. I thought that hummingbirds were only morningtime observances. Gorgeous, like Tristan and Mars in their one time bathtub apparatus.
There was never any 8mm or camcorder, we were poor. There is no video but there are some relatively good pictures and I still dream every once and again.
It's taken me yet another year to realize that buzzed is preferable to drunk, most of the time. Still fucked up. I am phonetically shaky.
Sweaters worn on a sunny day here in early fall are like skirts worn when summer starts in Austin. They're unlike a great song whose ending sucks. Athena is not the goddess of beauty and I've met her before I saw a truck, policing.
I usually like to pause somewhere near a trash can 'cuz I wanna smoke without littering or bothering too many people. Shadows are good analogs for a mirror, both false and true. I am absolutely biased from where I am the best place to be a kid at. I was fortunately reminded about Wally from the O's family as I meandered along the valley today and got a hug from a stranger.
I've gotten my context from veering away, again glancing both left and right because my forward has been misattributed, misappropriated, and wrong before I'm supposed to know if it is the way it seems. Olive, Willow, similar but not Maple trees, here with other foreign arbols on the other side of the bank fail in their questions about my sincerity.
If there weren't any receptacles here would here still be considered municipal? I never throw a butt in a can if I can't first put out the cherry. I take exception for knowing where I am and still no one sees me.
Spikey-ball trees pretend to be more eastern than me, with their leaves and seed pods already spurning and falling on the sidewalk next to me. Autumn and I are temporary. When you see me clenching my jaw or fist, it's probably because I failed at not sharing my pain with you.
I lie all of the time so that oblivion is more abstract. This probably would've been an entirely different poem had my computer been working properly. At the time, I thanked the bridge I'd earlier walked over and the holding breath kind of opportunity it invited me to take. I have to be more careful while smoking with a broken me so long as mine is.
And there is majesty.
