how to begin

all the problems of the world upset her. not just her own. she did not know exactly how to begin. she thought for a while then took out the pan and began frying up some bacon and eggs as the morning light filled the room.  #katyamills

clash

made some fire then
we collide

at the diner
count our
cash

clash of
the mexi
omelette
hash


#katyamills

journal # june one

Couldn't stand you but
the weather was
fine

I was under it when we got home
and the heart seated in the center
of the bloody thing
making it go

Organized chaos and classified a mess
your up style had gone down
the eggs scrambled
mostly whites the yolks fell
outta fashion

Couldn't stand it
i mean together

The coffee was too
white i mean
                     mixed
                  up with what the cows
gave

I think it all started
i mean ended
in 1992

friday morning. recalled

Swiss made time by cheese, I thought, semi-conscious through the drought. Life she makes us suffer, and suffer makes me someone i can stand by, i don't know why, the processes consist of their own metabolism, and play across the bones and drop another fathom. What a jerk to transmit to you something makes you suffer more, but flip that pancake as it bubbles, and wonder again, years later as you pay to play, if it was not blessed, the cursed thing, aching in your many frames and asanas, as you cobra up to free the energy in the spine with a click, and the python of the body shows you your confines, my dear, oh that I would wrap my loving arms around your neck and kiss you again like it was, run my fingers over the turf of your grey hair, press myself into you for the longest time after breakfast, despite the cats crying for scraps, the coffee steaming its goodness in milk, the morning light guided by blinds... you a working man you work so hard has only made you stronger and i become softer by you. do not give me nothing bad, please, with or without intention. I must open your apology like a flower like a fortune, and remember I am soft I am small for these moments, after which I can blossom with your kindness into the biggest me i can be. and i thank you and lace my arms up and around your tremendous back broken not, and the clock has no sway over us, not now in August, and you say nothing changes and though I get what you mean, it cuts to the spleen because in our intimacies everything made different and new by me by you, my love... we are independent spirits reaching out and suffer still, just like all the life the world around, so I gotta keep it cool and let you go after I gave you your sustenance toward your work, I hope, because giving is gold and taking got old. I want the new and i am into you.