soft and sweet

part of me thinks it's unacceptable to write when i am quite clear that i have nothing of substance to say at the moment while another part of me thinks you should write-sing-express all the time whatever song or substance is in you at the moment sing it out.

in addition to that it's also that i feel good here, simultaneously safe and exposed, and challenged, and connected

my god in the aeroplane over the sea fucking slays me, here have my heart-lungs-stomach neutral, milk, hotel, pulling them out of me

i shower before and after the cat bats at the curtain i have accepted this: i may never have privacy in the bathroom again. i mean he even tries to leap onto my shoulders while i'm sitting on the toilet peeing

yes i pee and i taught so many teenagers that girls even poop, too that summer in the woods-- the looks on their faces when we showed them the trowel! i think my proudest moment as an educator is seeing girls grow unashamed of pooping.

it is good to remember who i am where i have been who i've spent my time with it reminds me that entropy is a relatively new development in my life. clean your antique rifles heave civil war cannonballs into the underground basement what fitting objects for a pacifist to hoard.

at any rate there are window boxes on the porch three of them i will fill them with flowers color spilling over the wooden stairs.

the bees have started a new swarm about 30 feet from the original hive. they worship the new queen, buzzing bodies pressed tight together around a tree branch and the queen pulsing with power. i am only steps from them before i realize it's not just a thick tree branch, that it is moving, that there are thousands of bees pressed tight together around their queen and i am not her.