COYOTE BLOOD
poetry, art, mistakes, music, love, visions and everything...
sweet
The Winds May Howl But…
no crisis,
no cancer,
no fear,
no fleeting outrage
will push me from my merits.
The world is far stranger than I could have imagined.
All I can do is surrender.
...Sometimes the moon dips down low enough
Do You Speak Your Fear Or Not?
Cheers from a Pop Culture Casualty #162
Hands Down!
New Music Genre: Post Nap
Swendeldon
Poem
armchair travel
they say it’s a “tequila day.”
when it rains in LA
they say the world is ending.
it always rains
when I am in LA.
what does that say
about my existence?
no tequila for me,
only chilaquiles and stories.
Sorry I'm Late, I Was Jorkin' My Dork
A.M. Echoes, Midnight Organ Fight
assiduously
Bet On It!
Why Do People Always Want to Get Together?
I have been called a luddite for years
because I’ve ruined so many dinner parties
saying, “We’re all anxious, depressed.
We all have ADHD because we are constantly
connected to our devices.”
I am in an existential crisis:
“Am I 25? Or am I 41?"
What should I work on that hasn’t changed
between those ages,
between those me's.
I take out my phone,
and take a picture of cheese,
which I post on Instagram,
along with all my hopes and dreams,
only to be distracted by skate videos.
Seagulls or Eagles
Joyriding jewelry through the sea of daydreams…
October pulls up a
Chair
in a vacant room
Being alone
Requires
emptiness
On the table
Papers
with coffee rings
Strewn to the side
of me
And left
Ocean in you
Fire in the hearth
No
one
to watch it
Amply furnished
Ticking clock
anyone
To listen?