Sometimes
Give the poems in your head
Some rest.

Don't write them on,
Write them off.

Internally arrange a funeral
Bid them farewell
Give them an unceremonious burial.

The rising poem won't complain
They know well your anguish and pain.

The labour you go through birthing them
Shape their body, give a name
They would understand.

Failed poems are not as arrogant
As the birthed ones.

They too are weary pounding your head
Making holes in your soul
They would rather rest than be born.

Sometimes
They deserve rest.

Let them float away to a place
Where they find peace
And will not be missed.

Being back home, in my childhood room is like climbing into a time capsule. I left for college quickly, back in ‘21 and I’ve only been back here once, briefly.

My closets are still full of my old high school clothes and there are shelves that line the upper walls of my room with maybe a hundred “Disney Princess” collectable statues (my favorite is Ariel).

I have one wall space behind my bathroom door that has a hundred yellow stickies on it - reminders of old assignments and quotes like, “Do you hate drama or create drama?” and “Imagine your future.”

Everything seems carbon dated. It gives me an impeccable, knife-like sense of ennui. I want to cherish it all or burn it all, depending on the time of day. I went to take down my old Humphry Bogart and Billie Eilish posters yesterday and Kim said “Noo,” in such a sad way that I stopped.

Hold on, let’s overthink this.

I had a hard conversation today. I broke the news to my cats (Belichick and Tom Brady) that school starts at the end of the month, and I have to go back.

They took it well, I think. You know how cats are. I’ll know in a day or two, if their good will has turned to sour offense - they'll claw something up.

Belichick seems to be watching me extra closely though.
.
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Songs for this:
Lava by Still Woozy
Can't Hardly Wait by The Replacements
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08.01.3PM

𝐼 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑎𝑛 𝑎𝑙𝑚𝑜𝑛𝑑 𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑒
𝐼𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑧𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑠
𝐼𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝐴𝑢𝑡𝑢𝑚𝑛 𝑜𝑓 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑗𝑎𝑠𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑠
𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑜𝑛𝑙𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡,
𝐷𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑚𝑜𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑠;
𝑂 𝐴𝑢𝑡𝑢𝑚𝑛 𝑎𝑙𝑚𝑜𝑛𝑑 𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑠𝑜𝑚!
𝑌𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑠 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑑𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑖𝑛𝑔;
𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑟𝑖𝑐𝑘 𝑜𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑤𝑎𝑙𝑙
𝐼𝑠 𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑔...
𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑒𝑦𝑒𝑠
𝐼𝑠 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑠...
𝑊ℎ𝑦 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑚𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑒𝑠?
𝑊ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑎𝑑𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑜𝑓
𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑟𝑜𝑤
𝐽𝑢𝑚𝑝𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑘𝑦....
𝐴𝑧𝑎𝑙𝑒𝑎 𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠...
𝑊ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑤𝑎𝑙𝑙
𝐺𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑠𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑠.....

Silent, dark, bats rest
Photos of a few days' guests
Peeling plaster, lost lustre
Years of life gone to waste?

The men now, little know
About the men then, hang hollow
The air dull, cracks on wall
The men now, will soon follow.

Once life, there lived galore
Dancing feet rippled on floors
It's all past, turned to dust
The masters left, so the ******.

Men now, they care not know
All will sink in time's flow
Cobwebs will rule strong
Spiders have survived long.

Cut from the Tree …
Thrown in the River …
Rough Flow ….
Twists and Turns ..
Bruise and Cuts.
Going with the Flow….

Given the choice...
There is no choice.
No alternative
To poll your voice.
Be surgical.
Be precise.
This isn't the time
For being nice.
Fight against what you know's not right.
This is the quarrel for our childrens' lives.

With clarity and honesty
Not with an excuse,
It diminishes its sincerity.
25/7/2024

With Highway One almost completely to myself
North of San Simeon
I find a pristine ocean on my left
Green covered hillsides on my right,
And a warm sun in a light blue sky above.
The stresses of the city and my topsy-turvy life
Begin to fall away as I relax and revel in it,
All alone here in my faithful Jetta.

Circumsance newly provides us
With a lissom visage of hope -
A sturdy twig to hold onto when
The hurricane begins its howl.
     ljm