Synapse Writer-in-Residence #NPM16
Send only tablets of peace
to my love.
Fools shredded my debt docs
the last eight
months, out-of-nowhere I am
fortune’s fine blade, and I’m ready,
the mossy mountain outstretching sky-
After 15 years I am finally ready
to laugh off whatever age
(for proof of hope, we can nail-gun this one to future’s face).
We’ve won a new apartment.
My boss has lots of money. OK?
Mine more than yours,
a shit fad trap
rapper, a too long in the sun
joke. It’s all about choosing
the correct now.
Impossible to lose her in the light
I invent myself, a little dark mixed in, black keys for good measure,
send her my best dark,
my clear trash bag of who I was then,
our years picking up, being
compacted to a rent-paid snuggle.
We’ll waste time watching Full House, no tricks;
I am not climbing a mountain, or plucking
it’s a clear day
where a fool has a clean shot
behind the bullet;
we’ve bagged us an us,