My spiritual quest is kind of skewed since I so want our world and lives to have mystical significance. I wrote a poem about it all.
A poem of correspondence. So many students, so many stories.
Everyone gave you advice, especially me. So hard to just say, "I'm sorry your daughter is gone"
I might be in our apocalyptic future, foraging for food in ashes and not crunching charred crust in my teeth. Everything is artisan when it's one of a kind
A neighbor prosecutes God and love from her 10th floor balcony.
When you're too exhausted to write anything except poems about being exhausted.
And as we dared to be human they moved behind us and began to blow again, propelling us to places our natural strengths could never carry us.
I said, it’s only my need to give that makes me seem greedy. You said yes, but all your need...
I need you for my starry-eyed revolution, my sexy insurrection.
I am talking about a desirous uprising.
Who will join my love-army of Cosmic Carrots?
