It becomes nice again
to smoke
bearded young talking
about riding the train
to Seattle
all the houses playing
Interpol: the same music
I listen to in my
all the flowers sexually
scented and innocent
sweet dank
the grasses meant
to be chewed
“the weather is so
off and on”
a cold beer for
when it’s raining
a hot drink for when
it’s sunning
think to ask every
pretty boy on a
every biking boy
with label-less beauty
this land of
me the wind chimes
are living spirits making
perfect songs the
shadows are living
spirits making perfect
I act as if I have all
the money in the
world and am
loved by everyone
funny living faux
spring flower days
that will not last