let go.

developing the best ways to avoid confronting anything; sentimental, 

imagining myself small & insignificant, 

each word that leaves my lips just a test for the next, 

inaudible, no sound corresponding with another.

I cease to speak anything worthy.

palms at heart, I sit

in front of all the plants that will soon replace my presence,

except in bed, where their soil would stain the sheets.

I feel like I own nothing,

Lately, not even novel wit.

or a faultless way to let go. 

understand.

damaged.

a smell reminiscent of piss between tree's in the Don,

the nurse is home. 

wet from the lackluster anticipation to summer.

it's pouring.

craving banality, 

a sedative.

tending to the parrot as patient.

REPEAT STEPS CAREFULLY.

REPEAT.

lacking narrative in his manual

a needle end polished, too dull to puncture.

still,  the nurse drives it deep 

stake to the heart.

still, the parrot squawks 

reminiscent, of a man learning how to fall.

"Don't cross your fingers. Sundays will never change. They keep on coming. You'll be a freak And I'll keep you company"

werewolf.

Oh the werewolf, oh the werewolf

Comes stepping along

He dont even break the branches where hes gone

Once I saw him in the moonlight, when the bats were a flying

I saw the werewolf, and the werewolf was crying

Cryin nobody knows, nobody knows, body knows

How I loved the man, as I teared off his clothes.

Cryin nobody know, nobody knows my pain

When I see that its risen; that full moon again

For the werewolf, for the werewolf has sympathy

For the werewolf, somebody like you and me.

And only he goes to me, man this little flute I play.

All through the night, until the light of day, and we are doomed to play.

For the werewolf, for the werewolf, has sympathy

For the werewolf, somebody like you and me.

- Micheal Hurley 

fav cover  Chan Marshall