Sometimes I look inside my brain and like not what i see, so i get my brain broom out and look for cobwebs to sweepee But the spiders in my cobwebbed brain are happy where they are, so we negotiate a little pact for peace and brains green par. But the sneaky little fuckers spin their webs both day and night and before long my insides give me shudders, gift me fright. So back out comes the brain broom and i sweep ferociously, because you break a pact with mummy, with the broom

Patience, darling, in the dark, mother’s planting fathers snark. Ancients line your rust and blood, placating family, built in mud. Growing, finding, feeling, tremor breaks the surface, sings in tenor. Am I in you? You, in me? Reaching roots, the family tree. Weeds will grow here, mind confusion, garden paths twist to occlusion. Where the wax steps call me upward; blood moon waning unobstructed. In our garden water wisely, trust your minds eye, timid, blindly; tiny gods in gr

Full to the fucking brim with bees with wants and wishes with the heat of 8000 suns with oozing lava with questions with the eyes of the ravens from that forest we wandered with pulls and pushes with wills and wills and wills with villainous intent with stained butcher aprons with tiny futile forgotten gods with pebbles from the windy river with acupuncturist punctures' with bent forks and blunt knives with yearning with a deep desire to be alive before, again with rage with

Taught myself think small, is all, can't think big no more, for sure. All or nothing, black and white, sleepy days and sleepless nights. Thinking big is hard and breathless thinking small feels safe but restless. How to think big, big girl pants on, fronting frightened brain, pantheon. Deep brain jungle is the safest; out there? Gasping fear filled spaces. Try to think big, mind collapses not what i once was, now, molasses. Tried to numb it, fight it, bear it, time to burrow

Peep your peepers, keeper, leapers, always smiling never weepers. Jeepers creepers! Bleeping bleepers! Upright, aching crouched crow-keepers. Seeping steepers deep, the reapers; piling up pile on the heapers. Well, you rested! Fed the meters.

Cadmium cowboy counts sunsets and rises, horses and horseflies and ranch enterprises. Bruises and bristles, sheep and sheepdog militias, hot dusty high riding whistling wishes. Looks up at the stars and starts planning next year, with all that he's built and all he holds dear. Sweat in his eyes and a dirtier saddle another day down, farm and family life straddled. The bones are all buried, the river runs deep; the secrets on his land are kept by the sheep.