So many little poems falling on my head

drinking kindly every night


a dying man’s imagination

big red spots in my armpits



the mysterious bruise appearing on my arm



sneaking thought that only sneak


failing beauty
more beautiful when ugly

white plane dad

little shushed pillow


so many little poems falling on me

i smell the wood and become hungry

sitting sleeping trying to work


this is good
green desk
purple painting
yellow chair
and red wine