Are you keeping dry?

Just someone
talk about something
other than
the weather,
the basic heat,
wet–so what.
No matter how exciting it is to you,
it is not exciting to me.
Mr. Patterson,
you’re eighty and
I don’t mean to insult you but aren’t you sick
of talking
about the weather.



Principia in the rain

& I told you to be patient
& I told you to be fine
& I told you to be balanced
& I told you to be kind
& In the morning I’ll be with you
But it will be a different “kind”
& I’ll be holding all the tickets
& And you’ll be owning all the fines

Feed me, Seymour, feed me.

I married Blondie one month ago in an art gallery in downtown Richmond, Virginia. The other day I was chilling in the kitchen with my parents and the new boy, and I acted out telling my co-workers: “Yeah, my parents still feed me sometimes because, you know, I get in these moods where I just don’t feel like lifting silverware to my face, and you know, it’s not really a problem for them, so it really works out well for all of us.”

My dad goofing around in my childhood room. Summer 2010

You know the kinda eats,
The kinda red hot treats
The kinda sticky licky sweets
I crave