I tried to imagine
that the hills were priests in
long green robes, joining hands in prayer but

it turned out they were just hills.

I tried to imagine that
your yellowthroat was some sort of
calling, the up and down a    holiness
rejoicing

it turns out, it was a song your mother used to sing
holy to you, but to me it was
just a song

I tried to imagine
there was a hand holding mine, and
I was right - it was

the left holding
the right.

little stories throughout the day, those
are the only ones I know how to end, a
moment, a feeling,  bristling tiny experiences but
no idea as to how the year will end, the month or
even today.

one day is almost as vast to me as a year is to
those well-versed in endings and outcomes.

so little, I know
so little.

But where am I going to go? What am I going to do?

Anywhere, anything.

Selfie by Steven Hutchison

Stand close to me
I want to remember us
right here
right now
in that dress you’re wearing
in this light
or with a filter
ya, probably with a filter
we will immortalize this moment
in digital eternity
put ourselves in the back pockets
of all our friends
let them see us
we will become stars tonight
and though the skies are full these days
of lite-brite impersonations
I’m certain we will burn into forevers
I haven’t really noticed where we are
let the world fit itself into the top two corners
of our rectangular existence
like it matters anyway
I need to remember us
tomorrow you won’t be here
we won’t be here
wherever here happens to be
tomorrow I will hear myself again
with those lonely songs and cold hands
of an all-too-present reality
I need you to stand close to me
if I look back and see the world in between us
it will look too much like the truth I’m avoiding
tomorrow I will need to convince myself I’m living
and this will be my arm-length testament
there was a time and a place when we were smiling
pushed close together behind nostalgia inducing filters
if we can look convincing tonight
dress ourselves in starlight
block out the world behind us
maybe tomorrow I’ll believe it
shout your picture into my hollows
before the lonesome deepens
I need you in my back pocket
for those days my lonely soul gets wordy

drawn

"The moment one gives close attention to any thing, even a blade of grass, it becomes a mysterious, awesome indescribably magnificent world in itself. " - Henry Miller

myth: the constant ally

I like this drifting, out of focus

it's like I was tied to a post, never tried
to untie it, myself but

then your subtle hands
all over

and I was    thrust
outand

in all this
space, love ly

can just spin, slower and slow er
until I find (read: believe) that
I don't need to
find

anything
to be
free

 I just have to


be