farmer's market memories.
fishscale hangovers.
a hole in my heart.
my whole heart.
in the blank blackness.
I am the only reason you are in poetry books.
I don't mean to be rude.
but I mean to be green mixed with yellow mixed with red.
check your calendar asks.
the only thing you've ever loved.
is passing your hat.
so keep singing.
no matter what.
I love your everything.
and singing should be fun.
so find me humming somewhere.
because summer sucks.
and Central Park is full of spreadsheets.
let's get ancient yet do modern shrugging.
I haven't felt this way in a long time.