I have the same fucking resolutions so tuck them in, pull the sheet up to that warm space under chin, kiss foreheads and take a mallet and wallop until you need to clean the walls.
I just want to be a better version of myself in 2018. I want to level up. I want to shed as much bullshit that does not serve me as possible. I want to put my money where my mouth is. I want to write another book. I want to sell a fucking book. I want to hit my Goodreads reading challenge for once. I want to eat all the unused gluten and buy recreational marijuana. I want to be what the picture of this lion is:
In an attempt to remember who I used to be, here are two poems.
You Are The Morning Quiet
Where there are pots and pans hands, you are not. The loud frightens. Its ugly, a thorn. Between the clangs and bangs your soft slips in. Your still, a reckoning of peace of home Brown flashes tendriled bright I wait for each one
High Hopes There is a shuffle in my heart it skips warm then chokes a snake mid eat on a thing it th…
I want to make you a sandwich. That was my recent thought but now I remember it wasn't my first. The first thought was eggs benedict. I want to make you eggs benedict. and mimosas. I dont know how to make the eggs benedict exactly but the internet does so that means i do too. I will bring the things in plastic grocery bags and i will put them on your counter and pull out the things and put them into the refrigerator and i will make Alexa play the music i want. The sun won't be all the way into the windows yet but there will be sun. The day will be noisy but I will tell Alexa, "Alexa, volume 8." and then Jim Croce will sing to an operator.
The other night, with heavy, cut-glass in my fist, I ate dinner with my eyes closed.