life’s woeful ironies

hug and kiss this wistfully listless life
and try to witness what happens day and night,
from Meechy's death to my departure.

under each star with purpose and deserve,
I am sure. 

from behind my eyes,
different as time and wine and shine,
every human sees what they see
and believes what they believe.

commas don't separate shit or shirts,
no matter the material
or when I wore that one last.

I miss Meechy,
and I miss love,
plane and gunpoint simple.

the girl is not the girl,
and the Mayans had magnets.

things are there
and then they're gone.