Its always a pleasure

And a privilege

And a wide leg

And a tight squeeze

And a fresh seal

And a free choice

And a new day

And a good night

In the dust of my bones

I know,

Skin & Toast

Sparkly

Colors

For the neck.

Old Style for the office.

High for the concept.

People smoking on the sides of things.

Banners hang Octobers.

Learning lines in sweat shirts.

Forgot to register.

Down a well.

Whatever,

Skin & Toast

And Sometimes

I look back at stuff,

And I think,

Lord,

Maybe I should go back on medication.

~Skin, Toast, & Writing rut

Sometimes

You meet people.

Girls in low tops from the same side of your city.

Sometimes the deadlines never end.

Sometimes you have the color grey on your porch. High pitched and squaking. Goose. Kitty. Babe.

Sometimes they smoke from the sides of their mouth.

And they speak of your neighborhood like panels in centers.

Last month I spoke to the pink haired lady.

About why, and for, and settle.

We are the opposite.

We are different hallways from the same exhibit.

Doesn't matter cause the gift shop killed. Like diarrhea in the snow.

Then we danced like it was the end because it always is.

And the gay man in the flannel shirt gives me rides.

I don't do well in groups.

But, on the rare occasion that I do my fingers go numb and my eyes turn to dust.

I have always been taunted by magic, my section; occult.

The smoke eddies up, and the blue under scores, the heroes, the class. Boy. Friend. Cheese.

I have to stop.

I only ever wanted a store front and a

Black out,

Skin & Toast

Few Minutes Late

Waiting

Like bugs

Between the mop water

And the milk chugs

The cabinets

And the crinoline

The imports

And the napkins

The punch cards

And the lunch breaks

The swiffers

And the hand bags

Waiting

Like vermin

On loafers

In the back

In the alley

On the phone

On the break

On the crate

For the ten

And something

An hour

Waiting

In service

For ever

It seems

In the heat

With the bugs

To get

To the night

To the work

Coasting

Like dragons

In mountains

Down streets

Between jobs

In the rapture of commute

She almost

Makes sense of things

Curtain,

Skin And Toast

Started two new jobs. Nothing ground breaking, but exactly what I wanted. And the class is flaming awesome. For me anyway, can't say for sure if I'm changing lives, but there are moments when we feel like they're actually listening to us, and that my friends is a win.

Friend boy also has a day job change, we're rearranging our new schedules around our well deserved leisurely mornings. I love transitional periods. Its almost fall on many levels right now.

And I miss school, and I want to go back.

Thank You Fake Mom

For the burgers and wine

Alex and pop songs

Snap shots and strawberries

You've started cooking

And wearing head bands

I met you when I was seven

You were wearing red

You were allergic to my kitty

Your hair was in a french braid and you kissed my dad

We've come so far

People should study us

People should paint our faces onto ceramic cups and attach our names to decades

Happy Labor Day,

Skin and blunt bangs

On

The edge of her bed

On a phone call

To Los Angeles

She almost makes sense of things

And the cat licks her toes like its his last night on earth

Skin And Toast