spy shit

tonight light dark
             light 

             lightens 

             lightning 

             lighter 

             lights linger 

             lightness 

                     darkening 

                     darker. 

tonight it's 

 "night 

   night"        dark 

            light fights 

                    darkness too. 

            it's 

   night.        

                    

                    darkening 

            light. 

           it's porch 

            light. 

           it's shadow its. 

white wall and blank space 

           it's "go go dog" out in 

                     dark yard 

           it's highway distance 

           it's to 

   night. 

           it's "love you sleep tight" itsits hiding and revealing its its its it is itssss pppyy///

In other news, survivor's back on, the piano is safely wedged between the wall and the step, and and and the art on the wall os crooked again.

this blog is also the fault of the pogues

when a heartstops       when a face is covered indirt     in side its apair       of brown eyesandd auld triangles itsa white citytransmetropolitan its   loss of the writer of words whose wordsmad e sense of loss who seemed lost 30 years ago but here now is lost is lost is not at a glass a pinta brown acustom a dead dupon the drugsthe cracks inthe wall spelt hell the cracks in the wall spellttt

well then

igott

aliitl

ewate

ri

gott

alittl

edatughte

rbu

ti

wil

lb

eth

e

31

I

AA
MMM

CCCC

OOOOO

UUUUUU

NNNNNNN

TTTTTTTT

IIIIIIIII

NNNNNNNNNN

GGGGGGGGGGG

KKKKKKKKKKKK

EEEEEEEEEEEEE

YYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

KKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW

''''''''''''''''''''''''''

DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

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This dread night

In here

With a southern shape a shadow
With a light low
Upon a ceiling
To hissing heater
Of quiet
Of creeping
Of dark

the titanic of blogs

 i like feel like my voice here is like authentic and like providingsomething new to the world or whatever but like no one looks at this or like let alone likes it so like is this a shinking ship (this is a portmanteau of sinking and shrinking obv) and am i like cal or something oblivious to the obvious fate of a readerless blogkingofthe world?

only old things start new things

this view is not the
       view i wrote from last and clacks of keys sound deeper here, more resonant.

                         the rope swing out

                         the window blew wildly in

                         the breeze tonight, as if some stranger sat swinging

                                                        as branches danced above and swayed.

                         the lights are dim now.

                         the refrigerator hums a relentless rhythm.

                i should be sleeping, wrapped in sheets but 

                         the night                                                           and 

                         the week ahead 

                                                                                                  and 

                         the dread of another year, 

                                             another endless

                                                          year keep these fingers echoing on 

                                                                  keys.

                i am                             wildly                                  echoing

this                         breeze

                                                                          these          swinging

                               lights           wrapped in

this                         dread

                               night.