crisp like apples like childhood

i still like apples when they are crisp and cool and fresh, i like biting into them and the taste, it seems unlike life, which is a drag across the cold and hard face of a clock... when i catch an heirloom kinda apple in the palm of my hand it always fits, perfect like a baseball but better cause it's unprocessed, more like childhood when the skin needs no astringent and all the body is firm and thoughts are clear and waking up is fresh and new and motivation is natural and intention pure    - K

americano

i went to visit my good friend in san francisco up in merced heights. the wind was several knots and the Pacific foaming at the beach. my friend had fallen back to sleep. something happened to his knee so he walks funny now.  he needs surgery cause he tore something and its inflammed. i remember when my whole life was swell. we went to lunch in daly city on a sunday when all the country's got politics and black lives matter on its mind. robots detonating bombs to take out snipers. honestly i wouldn't want to be black in this country, when simple traffic stops can turn deadly. racial tensions are growing again like they often do. our country is founded on tensions. you could argue tension is what makes the whole thing tick. i've known my friend for a decade and maybe half that time we were incommunicado. at the cafe by the beach and facing the wind, he told me he thinks we have agreed about 87% of the time. i thought about that number while i sipped on my iced americano. no cream. no sugar. just water and finely ground coffee. he's a banker and he's always calculating. 87%. i'm not gonna argue. he's probably somehow right. 88% of the time, he is.

she whose temples were rubbed -vi) ... the final cut)

She was not homicidal, she whose temples were rubbed
Violence was in her nature and yours. Maybe some Aztec. Some worship the sun
Maybe conceived on Mexican soil with a gun

Her parents became decidedly pacifist in the wake of all the bloodsport they boasted, as documented in the ledgers. Nobody read the ledgers. Pacifist was an unconditionally accepted façade

She wanted to live, made that choice early on
This was well-documented. On the cloud
The virtual copy spoke volumes
Real loud

Probably around four or five years
Suicide was dystonic to her and distasteful
She was clear as her favorite drink: one part lemon, one part tonic
She held it to the light like a chemist

To prevent its being corrupted, she drank it quickly
She was hard to figure
Was her finger on the pulse?
Or was it a trigger?

She excited all the men, and half the women
And one third of the royal family
A high figure
Indeed

Strange, how the only one (unseen) in all whom exist
who shakes up their rocks with a twist of her wrist
recovers her balance despite leaning - en list

now give us. 
        give us. now
give us a kiss

When all her luck seemed away from her
our loveless child of gen eXxers
true marinated in grunge
wore cycling reflectors

She drew to her temples
(like the strike of a match)
a guardian to protect her

Who held her down in the chair
where she cursed and she howled
caressing the pulse of her dome
where calm was endowed

The healing was practiced
not random
she could give a damn
about facebook and fandom


Damn! our girl cried
young girl, leaving youth
massaged all the way
-- past gloss and glass
and glitz and glamour --
all the way to the truth
and thereby enamored

The thoughts that once clamored
and crowdsurfed her brow
excised at the temples
the fingertips ploughed

The flying cuts flew
unlocking the locks
all the cuts
from her temples
right down to her socks

A wave of great and invigorate feeling
 this young girl, leaving youth
-once damning found expression-
self-resolved as they say

fresh love welled up
self-propelled
by the way         -- fin