but my days are long because of you,
but I live now live on a mountain
and throw cutlery off the edge,
trying to stab the rocks below
and give myself bullshit bullseyes,
but my cliff is full of sounds for my eyes.
from salsa, the dip, to the dance,
serious love is a dirty poem,
but what the hell does that mean
in a poet's dream? you tell me.
pussy or victory; it's the order of things.
I have a prediction: I will die this year.
if I see 2022, great, but if not it is what it is.
I am always right, and I'd like to be wrong this time.
Love let me down,
but I am open to it letting me up,
however I do not have high hopes
like a balloon or a you.
the skin of my fingers
are like evolution, lords of war,
chewed up and traded our hard time for pain,
because love and anxiety is the same
when folding laundry
or filling your gas tank,
because life is about balance.