Oh Buoy

moments of civilisation
peek out of the sand

and mental maps amend
for makeshift paths of
flattened grass

take note of
patterned shell arrangements,
weathered glass,

the coals of teenage experience
and picnic relics:

paper plates and
olive pips
schnitzeled
in mammal ancestors

six hundred million

generations past.

a wave peeks back
and curls into the shore
like a century,
pushing on the corners
of everything -

oh buoy,
it’s effortless.

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lethargy


i need to work more, of course
and make it to at least outside the head.
but it’s hard to ignore thoughts about

what it’s all for, especially when

what’s par for the course
is pretty fast for the horse
and the praise always only comes after the scores.

one things is for sure,
looking at a scale of things deduced to be important;
if you’re going to

write a poem about this
you should at least be remembering to
take your supplements.

(this is how i was feeling a while ago, i am doing lots of things now actually)

Here is a poem about magic.

We do a lotta cool shit.

Did you know that most of my friends could tell you what “mana” is?

It is because they are amazing.