Tuesday,
i’ll be eating my last egg
its your last day of class
i have therapy at 7
i really want to bake a cake before
i’ll be vegan by Wednesday
beer is vegan
i want to play chess
And spend my last 10$ 
on/for you. 

In my dream,
I had a disease
And everyone was wearing gloves and a mask
And I was in quarantine
I had no control over my surroundings 
I faded into a deep smell of chirurgical latex
And sterility

Branch out through me
Branch out within me
Rest on me
The weight of you
Sliding from my shoulders down,
While I dissociate myself slowly
From an endearing reality
That must be unsatisfying to my psyche 

And I lose balance
My skin dries up
On the tip of my fingers as they graze you
The surface of you pulls me back and forth
Between reality
And the subjective and somewhat unrelated sequels of events 

[My skin cracks, my joints are swollen 
and so is my jaw
my hands reach out to the sky as i awake
my body is covered in scales
I am breathless
out of water. ] 

I love resting right between
My Oedipus complex and
The unexplainable pinch in my leg 

Searching for a father figure
Sudden sense of nostalgia
For a time, wrongfully idolized 

Where everything had a meaning,
Stronger than it deserved, 

Keeping my passion for you
Intact

Keeping my memories,
Wrongfully idolized 

Killing my mothers naivety
Firm morals and her incapacity to stand up for herself
Facing the man 

Firm ideals for me and her loneliness and constant self sacrifice
For me, amongst others

I loathe my choice of words, hardly appropriate for such heavy weights
I need a stretch or two
My legs, towards the ground
My arms towards my feet
My feet turn towards the inside,
Creating an imperfect arch in my legs, in my mind
An unbalanced image 

You are either pear shaped, curvy or flat
And you’re single purpose is to balance it out 

Hold yourself responsible
For man’s incapacity to control
Its pulsing
Throbbing lust for excess 
Either in the shape of a breast
or other circular motions. 

Let me travel in and out
Of the nest within you
Play with everything you rest your sense of security on
A game or two with everything
That keeps you balanced this morning

Over yonder, near the apex of my venerated memories, the sun also rises.

its copper glow covers the sphinx and a multitude of pyramids in a brocade mantle blessed by Ra.

Small tumults of wind begin conducting themselves like ballerinas. Shimmering, they pirouette, pique, and chaine all the way to near where the river meets the bay, and the salmon are plentiful, and when it becomes dusk, all the frog families come out to sing their praises to the clouds that part, making way for the glorious luminescence of the moon. the moon finds the aforementioned activities to be quite entertaining, and often times she must stifle herself lest she giggle, by shifting around the cool, heavy, blue grey craters on her surface and generally making a muck of her face. she sees the sun when approximately half of the population of planet earth do, and often the sun and her have conversations of the workings of the saplings they deign to shine on and/or reflect upon. the sun, being the hot headed troubador of a matador that he is, sees nothing wrong with scorching. the moon, being of the more gentle and generally cool persuasion, always has a problem with this, unless it concerns people with moustaches. you see, the moon despises facial hair. she finds it to be offensive.

the two of them entertain themselves with petty debates over the purpose of existence and why on earth anyone should put milk in a bag, until one day, the sun will burn out, and the moon will take her own life out of loneliness and lack of purpose.

The trees and general flora that make up the greener aspects of this strange and enchanting place, know of the potential self destruction of their moon goddess. for centuries man has cared for, destroyed, praised and preached about said forestry, all the while running through, chopping away at, and bowing down to the various great oaks and fauna found within it. the forest remains indifferent to a point. it will be struck and made into shelter, it will be struck at out of anger or jealousy, it will be made into writing utensils, drawing utensils, and general phalangicle playthings of the humans, as long as the moon blesses them with her sweet tendrils of granite light from her rounded beaming icicle face. once this ends, the oaks and elks will join together and avenge! their blood curdling war cries will shake the ground beneath everyones feet and even the itty bitty chipmunks will cease their squeaking to watch the destruction of the destructors.

and then there will be a feast.

the woodgrain 
Of todays
Coffee table chat
Is one part baby seal
Two parts starving child
The shining steel of 
My warmest smile
Is one part remorse
Two parts
Whale harpoon
Unsure
Which I perfer less
Handshaking
The gorilla amputee
Versus 
jaw gnawing
With guerilla nobility
I answer my enemies
Questionable intent
with a smile reserved 
for my closest friend
Silence

2nd p ; laura lynn petrick

Bored as fuck, my bed is full 
my head is heavy

How am I supposed to clean things out
sort things out ?