Aleatory Spit

Aleatory Spit II.

Tuesday, August 18th; I'm writing this from my friend Amina's Floor in Oakland, CA. It's 5:25 pm and the sun is beaming cooly through her window.

I ran away to escape the blues and did it to a four count. quick steps and a 6 hour trip chasing the sun east. I'm eating organic snacks. Fresh rose water perfumes my shoulders and smooths my knuckles. Devin thinks he's funny and is somehow convincing. I laugh at laughter and we are all rewarded with a breeze.

We eating organic munchies at a brown picnic table. Talking about how to feed ourselves from the ground we rent from. Everything is beautiful and promises a yellow tomorrow. I tilt neck towards the sinking sun and say a silent hallelujah for being born again when i tried to die. a bike revs down the block. It's sound comes, reaching a crescendo as it passes the gate, then fading away in a grumbled glory.

The parking lot is on Fulton. The African American Culture Complex has art outside of it that we've got to see. Amina's recommendation is Pillar's word.

===

Cigarettes are ten dollars
so i'm staying here forever
Vice says i'm bugging but i been
the only difference is here
i am not there which allows
me to be here which is to suggest
present For the first time in a long time
something feels lighter here
Skeletons don't drape behind my shadow

Kill me before you tell me not to be me
I chew through the paint
on my lips and do not smile back
words on my back ward me
forward. I don't die easy.
count them if you can

===

A shark fell through an apartment in the East Village this past Thursday. That is why his apartment
smells like fish guts. That is why he has to reschedule our date on tonight.

He thought the smell would be gone after paying a contractor to patch the roof before using the rest of his savings to hire a cleaner who specializes in the erasure of aquatic muck, but much to his chagrin
his roommate just texted him saying the house still
smelled of shark entrails. He says this on the walk out of the bar, after clumsily noting that i have no breast before clumsily drinking a stiff bourbon on two rocks.

It is easier to say this than say, I cannot bring home a girl who passes from the neck up. It is easier to convince me the sky opened up an ocean on 12th street than to say, I need you to be enough for the both of us.

*this is okay but could be better and shorter, got kinda clunky

===

I finished the book Sluts today and it broke my heart. It was hard to finish because it was hard to read and the whole of it exposes the pulsing sexual
psychosis that stated the time.

I feel spoiled with joy. A red chested humming bird just visited the backyard moving faster than my eyes could sprint. I want to catch the rim of the sun and take it to bed with me but who would create the mountain's silhouette?