(the title of this poem is inspired by autocorrect on my iPhone)
a path in the sun...
my time is now
in theme parks.
this is grow, fear will fight
dark and early, four o'clock,
magazine january,
with plenty of fish,
dragging me up to unchanging rooms,
this land is your land.
head high, you hit your chin.
on bunk beds,
but fear won't win.
I do the sister dishes in the kitchen,
while the wisconsin window is to my left,
and,
those scenes back there have taught me how to live.
my teeth feel interestin'.
from the same sight,
I see the same changes,
from the same rocking chairs.
as I sneeze,
I have been lucky since the 21st of september,
that teeter-todder,
summer salt bullshit,
while writing letters.
she tundra freezes
and it has been ten long months, and there is still no werd.
my moon is naked.
borrowed like youth.
have a good day burning down doorways.
don't Eloise me.
century tentacle me.
and say things like:
dear weird poet,
what is your story?
this is it, so hard, and so on and so forth...