I don’t even know what to do
when I’m not drawing your face
engines drop from cars
and cars roll
I can’t begin to stand
without my feet mixing
it’s that Saturday feeling
that ruffles my lungs
and makes my hands static
dipping and gliding
the bluebirds
sucking and spitting
mouths of some creatures
like people
I go rooting up
softness from exes
then glimmery distrust
a white wave pokes
from a blue continuum
I go my sweetheart sleeping
on a becandled mattress
all his hopes
single out someone
blowy heater
locus of supplement
heal a split lip
the wind won’t
and I backup when the wind steps
just in front of me
drowsy lips
and nasal barricade
with suffering
I can manage
putting down a pen
but I don’t know what to do then