There is a head in my head it's a head

I try to remember this

Because when I forget, I see things everywhere

Things that are really just this head

That's in my head

Back to back, shoulder blades matching up

It's a beautiful idea, isn't it?

I think

I could almost draw it

But that desire eats itself

And that gesture, the eating, is more beautiful than the eaten

And left behind is the space where something might be, or might've been, done or drawn.

Sometimes it blows my fucking mind

How expensive pine nuts are

How the mind pines and

blows to pieces

over things with hooded eyes

The bread didn't rise

It wasn't warm enough

It is a poor, flat, dense thing now

But it pleases me to pieces in this form

I do not know why

I forgive it for not rising

I gave it only an hour or so, a few snatches of heat from the burner or warm water

When I have had weeks

And still

I am relearning how to regulate my temperature

Some very warm words spoken

I did not have the heart to repel them

Nor the strength to take them in

And so they linger at the level of my eyes, nose, lips

I deal in declivities; this warmth is strange, like an ephemeral something, or a thick nothing

I do not understand it

But I do not much mind it

There is much a dog does not yet understand

But there is also time in which to investi-

Why is this what I come back to?

Samsara

Samsa

S

Unfinished business with that man and his stories

There are some books I will finish without ever knowing

So slowly will I read them

So fondly will I forget them

Sometimes I-

I read again because it feels too good to deny (that feeling is the lie)

Other times

I read again to drown a little

Force some facts

Set things straight

Hope is easier to move in pieces, ya know?

If I was born here

I wonder if somewhere else, close or far,

There's a kid that was born in a spring

On a mountain surrounded by moons

I wonder if we'd make sense to each other

Or not

I wonder if it's alright to live like this

Or not