(no subject)

Time was I could see the future

I still remember fragments as they occur

These days I try not to look into the future

It doesn't serve me

Hope doesn't serve me

If anything is meant to serve us, it is ourselves

The world isn't built for it

Unless we cherry-pick

Blossom-pick

Menu-pick

Even with the biggest plate we can't try everything at the buffet of life

And so much of it will be terrible

So we serve ourselves

Not what we're supposed to like

Not what is supposed to make life worth living

But what we actually love

Olives

Anchovy spread

Mochi

Store-bought potato chips

The stinkiest cheese oozing with orange washed rind

Little hot pickles

Winding through the choices people will say

"Try some of this, it's excellent!"

"Ugh, I could never eat that."

And you will want to take Jane's dip to make her feel better. Don't.


Ignore it all

If someone else wants hope

They can take all the hope

Load their plates

Fill their pockets

Live in the unknown future

And leave the shining pearls of each living moment

Inside the glistening oysters

Raw, briny, unpolished

On the table for me

(no subject)

I didn't expect it but it's perfect
Surface inviting
Like a sponge invites water
A little yielding, a little resistance
A perfect canvas for my pen

My carvings look like flames to me
And between those flames I place
The sparks of hearts
Dense in the center then
Float, dispersing, up to the sky

I don't expect it but it's perfect
Surface inviting, except--
My hearts get stuck in my ribcage
Once I would have written
so many places
so many times
and among it all you:
what awe, what wonder

Surface perfect, surface inviting
The pottery doesn't break
Instead it's my own heart
Watching inscribed hearts spark
And fade into an endless sky
Without a word.

(no subject)

Also washing machine broke. I can work around a lot of things, but in my household? Not a clothes washer. All the new ones are 1000+ dollars and have WIFI, AI, and goodness knows what else.

I guess it's that kind of day

Pythia is gone
Even Cassandra is fled
What happens next is what has always
Happened: an empty cave, a rock,
And water dripping.