More Likely Than Sasquatch

Three little birds bathe in a dirty
puddle formed on gravel, proving

everyone has to deal
with what now while
dreaming better days.

My new room is bigger
but the walls are more
thin. Right now I can
hear neighbors fucking
& a baby crying.

Notes such as this,
sketching
vague concepts are
problematic dinosaur
eggs. Porcupine trees
of unfulfilled dissonance.

Don’t touch.

If you do touch, nothing
is going to happen; not
now; not tomorrow; no.

But here’s another, before bed:

A local drunk with a ponytail
offered me a pipe full of weed
grown on his west-side farm.

He didn’t have much to say, really.

We talked about how there is no Dead
without Jerry. How nitrous balloons

are dangerous to scenes & individuals.
About the city & about Monroe Avenue:

“there’s been a blackout
or two on our avenue”.

After we said farewell I didn’t black out.

I did not get killed in a drive-by shooting,
nor did I die in my sleep, or while shitting.

I did alright.

I just got into bed

and thought about What Cheer, Iowa,
and how that was the name of a place,

where people lived, and those people
wrote What Cheer, Iowa, on envelopes.

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