I'm gonna write me some music
about applying for an Events gig in Cleveland,
and then hum a little tune
about changing the ballast in a fluorescent light fixture
in the closet where I interview musicians.
"The distinction between the past,
present and future is only a stubbornly persistent illusion."
the most challenging part,
especially this year,
between fear and jalapeno-soaked bacon;
I find it so hard to tell you I am afraid to forget the smell of you.
let's wonder what next year will bring,
because I certainly didn't know
what 2020 was going to be like,
and 2021 is getting better than when it began.
like Samantha Crain,
I want to fix old radios
and speak Choctaw.
maybe I'll go back to Kansas or Kentucky,
live alone and write a Time Travel novel.
I've forgotten how to love myself,
how to write the beauty I see,
to embrace being fucked up,
to learn new things like the electrics
of a light in an upstairs closet:
the green wire is the ground wire.
october will be here
in a few tomorrows,
and then birthdays
will turn into yesterdays,
that's okay.