the woods

I could live with just diner food, and smoke, and the woods,
and old men who shut their fucking mouths for once.
Transformative sunrises and sunsets and starscapes,
Ghost stories, and only moderately tainted ground water.
It's a lot to ask for, a big dream that outlives us every time
but dies in the shadow of bad medicine, greened copper, loud voices but no one to hear you scream.
Somewhere I heard that a bard born to a family of farmers will become a magician
and I say it when I don't want anyone to follow me.

solstace, untitled

I have one notch in my headboard
for every time I could define what "normal" was
and felt that way
and conquered it
And saw myself in the silhouette of the hatred of it.
The pollen finally turned on me this year, like I knew it would.
My lungs are more tired than my legs
but I respond well to promises
And every breath is two of those:
One on the inhale, another on the ex.