A Dying Breed
three inches of hair to show for
the last seven months
and ten years’ worth of movement.
if i kept time by my wrist watch
it would not be midnight
and i would not be listening at the door
but, really, judging myself.
to go from something natural to
a strawberry yellow kind to
a sort of autumn to
dead to back to
it is no surprise that i am long.
between my fingers you’re soft
and conditioned too
but i am always
with one hand on the knob.
Christmas VS the End of the World
I’m having trouble deciding which to prioritize. I recently perfected my Reindeer jerky recipe, which would seemingly put Christmas at the front of the list, but the Mayans have cut my advent calendar four days short and my headless Santa Clause illustration is, like, what the hell? Speaking of lists, if Santa Clause and God have anything to say about it, I’m at the bottom of theirs. And I’m not trying to give up sodomy for a Peanuts paper wrapped pair of socks under an expensive, hairy tree, especially if we won’t even make it that far into December, so, what the hell right back at you.