The unzipping and usurpation of rebellious alleles determines my chevron fate. Deconstructing Mondays always feels dishonest. Thursdays are gushing with primordial recklessness, but Mondays are like cooking dinner with coat hangers for spoons.
Youth rolls away. Youth falls off the craggy cliffside. Youth disappears into beige avenues of responsibility.
I collect human negligence in jugs. My eyes capsize in the rough seas of his assurance. Ghosts calculate better than I the distance between love and grief.
My code for my face door, my rose garden exit, the corridor or comfort, exposed by the greenest hackers. Alleles sniffing glue by the fire of my private civilization burning.
Day: August 10, 2026
Under the Ocean
Schools of saints in cream robes dripping with incense flavored chant swim through the collective psyche. On the boat above the water, Jesus and Peter fishing. Below the seal of unsliceable surface, me singing to an ocean liner full of dead partiers. Hunting herds of razor sharp HR managers comb the water for verbal malfeasance. I want to tend nurseries of consonants. Instead, I bewitch a ghost in his last century’s best, who tells me I’m the best woman he’s never had.
Miniature Moon 