life commentary, poetry, personal writings and photograpy

In line at the drive thru

A bird lands gently on my rear view mirror just outside my open window. Less than a foot apart, our eyes meet. "hello, little bird. Is every little thing gunna be alright?". Bird promptly shits and flys away.

Friday 13th

Drifted out while driving, clipped a mailbox.

A minimum of 8 hours of sleep is needed after eating clonopin. The strung out buzz is an intense phenomenon only experienced when trying to wake up. Especially if its only been about 5. It is as though one is peacefully dying, the body is forcing shutdown and all desire becomes focused on sleep.

A loud snap, I knew what I did. To my right a collage of silver flaps in the breeze at the end of a wire. I went back, knocked on the door of the hillbilly shanty home. A rotten '83 ford conversion sat on flat tires, a forest growing beneath it. I knocked on the door knowing damn well no one has lived here in a while. A neighbor walks out of his garage and says "ain't nobody livin there" I told him I clipped the box with my mirror. It was a rusty memory of a mailbox, missing numbers and a door, now twisted and torn. He said don't worry about it. I did not. Drove home, popped the shattered mirror back in its housing and took a nap.