zenish:life:3 parts

sing the last of a Staple Singer's song.

then, open your door, go ta werk, you know, blah blah blah

at the end of the day
you riding the #21 home
like the rest-brown, broke & tired
hard
worked
you thinking, "yeah, imma cook that chicken and probably just have some rice.."
{ doze off}
wake up in May on May
street smelling as it always do
of eggs & salsa, what i'm trying to say is
it's an ordinary day

then you humming,
hooowww.did you think about me at all.or happened to hear my call. cause i didn't get the chance to tell you/that i would want to see you again. oohh. hoowwww. iiiiii. mmmiissss. yyouuu

you love singing to yourself
and after all, it's a ordinary day
so you round the usual corner
thinking of chicken wings, jasmine rice, sex, lips, oh-shit-i-gotta-remember-to-wash-
and

BAM!




I am constantly surprised by the parody of life. Things are so dramatic these days. Sudden. Immediate. Even, urgent. As if there is anywhere really to go. Save here. Heaven in the bathroom bathtub. Hell, the hall closet. Every moment seems to need to be won. We beings are
desirous affairs of nature. Unreconciled with the truth of stillness.



lately, i miss, dish, eat, piss, diss, kiss, kiss, kisssssssss, piss, come, go, love, shop
I bought a pair of lovely Betsey Johnson's but I'm returning the rest.
I been praying and regaining some lost stuff... sniff*
But I haven't really been crying, as much as I been laughing
things aren't so bad,
things'll be better