Today is Friday, not Thursday, not Wednesday, not even Tuesday.

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Somewhere someone has started bleeding.
Somewhere someone has stopped bleeding.
If you're a woman both are a problem.

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Life is a mixed bag and am learning to choose better. But some days all I choose come in a plastic wrapper. Lately my dreams feel like living inside these bags too. There is just no getting away. I see plastic all around me, tossing and turning like a Whale gone silent.

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Nothing clears the cloud like the moon
nothingness fills in the space
before it is declared a place
not everything needs a place
not every place needs a clearing
look at the sea flowing across
you can, too
clouds are just horses that flew
to reclaim space and hide places
and the Moon made a deal
to co-exist in days one to fifteen
flowing like the sea.

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The snooze button feels a renewed sense of purpose tonight.

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It's always the people, not the food.

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Between losing its wings and
finding its feet
Freedom grew.

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eating an ice cream in the heat
with a sore throat
most of it melts away
the little you ate
inflames your throat
and you lose your voice
for making that choice.

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traffic jam
just a traffic jam
was love
years of society
years of rulebook
like bread and butter
gone stale for years
no eaters
a house full
yet starved
sleep met amnesia
yet all helll broke loose
at the visible sight of
a red signal.

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