(gosling tail feathers)

(February 2023. Written on daopoetry app, mostly not me.)

Hate is a word that comes from the trees in winter
In death I am become immortal

oh must i love the withering of this love!
So soft, so small

Friends walk down Myrtle as saints weep for their souls

We regard strangers faces as portraits likened to Modigliani

Pieces of William Blake ripped to shreds
and washed away with the sewage train to the ocean deep

(shapeless living blobs)

the impermanence of memory,
diarrhea down my leg