Light Garden

That was a spooky step

Some kind of 

Marble-magnetism

Whirling me like a spinning top

A dreidel on warm wood

Make a cord

I stayed full, a friend close by

Repeat an obsession and it becomes a ratio to your world 

I do not like ratio talk,

I think of using either nausea or plums, 

or other soft sweet orbs

I miss the smell of blue on someone who is blissed out

But this ratio, Moths and me

It is pure trust, I see time in their spins

Dusty twin wings, the moths are at the moment we met

it is again 

and again it is normalized, like pear cake in your warm

gut

I would take my cousins to the levee and call it the beach

Wet wake, a blonde plum.

A sherbert starfish smile shining from the West.

A magical trust blooms in the fertile behind-clouds

You can make me lie if you don’t know.

How do you remember those moments? 

Those minutes that I only think of

when I think of you 

Hurricanes, being seventeen in a Southern fall

The only monument I have to you 

are those blue-green clogs you ordered because you liked mine

sitting on your porch in their eBay package

Never opened 

I sat there at the bus stop in the green rain

I thought about how I would always be waiting for you

The dark licorice plums are ripening under their own magnetism.

Passing cars zoom by and they mirror

the deep personality of my stomach. 

I miss you all over again. 

I get on the bus

by Simone Kyle

Actually, I have two monuments to you. 

Besides the never-worn clogs, I listen to the David Holmes album you thought I would like.

I do.

I should not listen to it so much 

I should not forget you

I try to slip into the magical trust you have for me, still

A warm heart beats for you (all) and smells like your medication

I try so hard not to burst out Crayon Schemes,

you would interpret in your macro scale. Your cloud logic.

Do you want a visit, stay? 

Russ, do you miss feeling rolling marble?

Silent Disco 

The veil today is significant

Squirly brained 

This is the first time I have stepped outside today

It is wet and you are tracing lines in the Netto parking lot.

Today you are closer, like mail

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