NO,

there is absolutely nothing "wrong" with you.

For Danika.

You are leaving tomorrow,

and fear is still an illusion.

Written August 23, 2009

Sing sing singing on my branch.

Moments float away, white blurs in our memory like doves, sweet hugs taste like nectar, intoxicate like liquor, especially when we look back on them, peek back at them, pressing our hands to the glass, like children in zoos.

I was so young, that sweet nectar on my tongue, reminds me. I'm getting older always, but never, not until I sever my branch from it's trunk, he said "History is bunk," Thelonious Monk continues to PLINK PLINK PLINK in that painting

I didn't take with me, I wish I had you with me, could have taken you with me, still I keep you in me,

always,

fall sideways on a bed that's too tall to fall on, are these the ones I'll call on when i need you?

But do I need you? I've planted seeds (in) you see, but I might not see the fruit, might not need the fruit, my memories are mute when I want them to return to me.

Sing sing singing on my branch, I want you but might not need you, dove (love?), perhaps I'll pull down my branch, even uproot my tree, and fly, or fall, like a blurry dove,

but in the other sweet-tasting direction.

That's my blog over there. No, no, the one on the other side.

Thanks for checking it out. I'll be posting some of my free-writes, etc., here. If you're REALLY my friend, then you'll check this page EVERY SINGLE DAY. Okay?

Really, I hope you enjoy this stuff. I AM NOT A WRITER. But I do enjoy writing, and I figured I'd share some stuff with my friends. And you don't have to check this at all.

I love you.