last week’s poems 13
why move to the city
when the forest has more to offer?
well, whatever you do, don’t go halfway
and live in the suburbs
what i’ve been studying for a decade:
why most artists don’t come of age
take notes on life
everything you see and remember
document it
everything is fleeting
and you and i
are long gone
except in my head
i want to rent a cabin by a lake for a month and swim naked with you and fuck cuddle by the fireplace and campfires and daydream and write and read during the days when not swimming or building dams in creeks and having picnics on trailhead overlooks and feeling grass and mud in our toes
and fishing
maybe i’ll take up fishing
sweating on a café patio in 95˚
trying to figure out my life’s complexities
using poetry and the outdoor sauna that L.A. is
the stories on the road, or in the midst of momentum are what make the most sense
kites can fly but
they aren’t free
they have a leash
woah
that’s paradoxical man
we have to make modern art, before we can make post-modern art, before we can make post-post-modern art.
we have the power to slow down time
yet we don’t use it often
he’s happy
or so it looks
but he never felt free
with his ex’s rusty hooks
the iced pour over tastes like juice
and the baristas are happy for real
and the weather is 95 and the ac is cool inside
and i’m writing poems
in this privileged life
sitting on a wooden stool
next to limewash walls
and full wall windows
that aren’t graffitied at all
