selected past writing at 42opus

We are taught to take care of each other, that families are harsh places where people will tell you that you're fat or old looking, but also where those same folks will stand by you.

Of doors and red-eyed windows,

the senses before sight.

I became specific

in my body.

You see? If you're picking apples,

              it is pointless to watch the sky,

to sort each starry feather

                            that falls from its transparent perch.

In the morning my face wears wrinkles. Pants face. Sleepy pants. Face of demonic possession and lack of caffeine. God then is the sound of the faucet, the coffee dripping.

Don't be shaking people's hands with that fragrance.

You're not missing much, just a bear dressed like a bunny.

What's my best friend's name again?

It's all skin and no apple.