Tropisms / Maybe, maybe, it doesn’t matter

It is late at night. It is cold outside. K has nowhere to go. L has nowhere to be. Maybe we wait for the end of days.

K: Maybe, maybe no one cares about you. Maybe no one cares about you.

L: maybe you’re a liar, maybe you are right.

Mondegreen / It’s a hard day to come

Where are you now my young little boy. You was to be a doctor, you was to preach the gospel. You was to be my soldier, you was to care for mother. 

You was to go to college. You was to build a steel bridge. 

Where are you now my simple young boy. You wanted to run, who made your heart break. You wanted to cry, who shamed you for weeping. Is it a hard, is it a long, is it a damned day. Is it a day that’s supposed to come?

Tropisms / Hometown Tomorrow

And it continued on a phone call.

K: I be coming home tomorrow, please be there.

S: you be coming home tomorrow? after eight years be? 

Sadona / Making new friends

The hardest part about making new friends is meeting them for the second time. It is deciding what to do next. It is deciding who you will be to each other after a couple of weeks or just before you meet.

Sometimes.. most times, I wonder if it should be possible to meet someone new. Could you know someone if you are yet to have a self? What do you do when you are asked a question that seeks a description of your personhood? 

Mondegreen / My Boy builds houses

My boy builds houses and makes them look grey;
I think he leaves it the concrete this way –
My stomach is hungry it’s crying its brains
I think it’s dying to drive me insane.

Sadona / Gratify me

Like me

Instant gratification is what I seek. It is what I disdain

If you would like my picture, save me the pain

Tropisms / K runs into S

On her way back from dance practice, K. comes across a recently made friend, S.

“Hi, what have you been up to?” S. inquires of K. as soon as they are within speaking distance.

Mondegreen / home sweet home

I get dark gleams lit in my head. I ordered jumpsuits to sleep in my bed. It was winter by the time they were here. Talk to me people,  know if we cohere. Talk to me people, know how we compare.

There’s no hope for the thinker who knows they’re there. There’s no hope for the thinker who thinks life is clear.

But it’s not writer’s block

I’m stuck in the time right now, trying to figure out what it is I am thinking about. My mind has its own mind and its own mind has another mind. I’m stuck here waiting

It’s May and I’m back

Let me tell you a short story about myself.

Once upon a time that is now, there is me, and I tell people that I get lazy some times when I don’t, and it is uninspired that I am every time I try to act.