birdie

sweet birdie. write me, show up on my doorstep, whatever you do you will have my warmth. i'm so happy you're still making this little world lighter. your heart is true and good and i'll never give up the part of it you showed me. shoot me a message somewhere.

stuck any red leaves in any journals?

i was here.

i adore your new bio. that kind of poetry scratches an itch in my heart

You thought i was rich and i am but not how you think
          I live in a tudor house under the freeway in Mar Vista by the beach
          when you call i take my phone outside to the picnic table
          that i bought from the Rose Bowl
          and i listen to the rushing cars above
          and i think about the last time you visited me
          
          - Lana Del Rey, “Happy”

morning sun. dave bixby.

what a strange life. 
          what wonders it holds. 
          thank you, for being one.

your bio is so beautiful and I have never felt so many emotions in one line. 

oh, poet.
          i hope with a true desire that your mind is lilies and dancing through them.
          i hope that it is not a pit
          [though, if it is, you know that i will gladly sit there with you until we can find that misplaced ladder which is hope].
          oh, muse,
          listen to the song of my mind, will you?
          it sounds like 80s life, by the good the bad and the queen.
          i think you will be better for it.

dear, dear birdie
          i think about you while driving a lot, and while trying to think of what i should write next. it fills me with hope. 
          i hope you're more than alright. 
          you're always remembered on this old site.