A storm started last night around 2 am, or so that is around when it woke me up, only temporarily as I sleep well to the white noise of hard rain. It continues in earnest now threatening to wet our hair and jackets as we begin our day of juvenile doctor appointment, ophthalmologist appointments, various other things planned for me by wife, hopefully to get lunch at my favorite family restaurant which I haven’t been to much since we moved away from it, there is a little pistol that I have to pick up purchased 67 hours ago, or thereabout.
This is life, not always exciting, not boring – just is and it keeps going for now.
luckily.
I imagine dozens of winged seraphs standing erect, flanking me as I am a poet and necessary.
my history of surviving deathly situations may well prove this out.
untitled
my breath stinks
my armpits smell
my stomach aches
I am not the man I thought I was
better to be dead
then have to spend a
lifetime dying. but
I’d be awkward as anyone
else in anyother life
so there is only
this and
with all,
it perseveres.
I cannot wash the
stain of maleness
off my clothes
I am not the man I ought to have been
only recently realizing
that I have to obliterate all
that should not be known
or read, less it be known
and read.
and still,
my breath stinks,
my armpits smell.
my stomach aches.
– Hoc Scripsi
the platitudes of willful resemblance 