The names of
racehorses and boats
Are kind
acts of randomness.
Foghorns,
Urban Fruit, Walking the Cemetery,
Shadow
Dancer, True Dat.
I am an
island, a memory catcher
Closing the
book on flowers
Pressed
between its pages.
A nomad in
situ
Firmly on
the spectrum
Drowning in
the metadata.
A writer on
the storm
Golfing
tennis balls
At the
driving range.
Once upon a
time
I smoked pot
On the banks
Of Walden
Pond
And slipped
into its waters.
Trash,
recycling, compost.
Champagne
problems.
Burritos for
dinner,
Tattoos for
dessert.
Focus,
People.
Let us
commence
The
pilgrimage
To find
The holy
algorithm.
And as we
tap into the madness,
Let us all
write love letters
To each
other.
