On quiet Saturdays slipping into
Sundays, I watch from the darkness
dotted yellows and whites
sprinkling the invisible hill outside.
It makes me a little sad
but a cool sad, a minty balm,
like bare feet in dewy grass.
mood partly inspired by mura masa's song, blu
video:
We were drunk and half-high on a crumbling front porch, three hours into Saturday and talking about random, unexplained mysteries that had happened to us. Unexplained disappearances, anonymous gifts, unrevealed pranksters. Jenna, losing her glasses one morning, never to find them again; Steve, who’d one morning found a fresh blueberry pie in front of his dorm room with his name on it (which he shared with his roommate); Sora, whose life suddenly started presenting her with a small rubber duckies in random places every day for a month.
Funny, the way the body works.
Lots of joints
and limbs,
swing swing swing.
Balls that creak.
Sockets that soar.
Shake hands,
cook food,
wash hands.
Wash hands one more time.
Wash hands one more time.
Wash hands one more time.
Funny, the way
the body works,
knocks on wood,
bumps into shoulders,
lies in bed,
stays there.