“foolish joy, greedy desire” by Sasha at her desk

Wednesday August 14, 2019
10:03am
5 minutes
On The Brevity Of Life
Seneca

drunk on his own smell it’s gross really i’m not sure about any of it any of the bullshit that goes along with an i do or a yes or a no is there ever actually a question or are we animals running around the farmyard the jungle the scent of another calling us down into the mud calling up to the balloon clouds unsure unsure unsure and then sure sure sure sure is the service of oneself the ultimate gift to the other crow calls that it’s a tuesday that it’s warm that the baby’s diaper needs changing i don’t know where i put my biggest baddest dreams the deeper we got into the earth burying our toes in the sand watching the horizon turn dark

“foolish joy, greedy desire” by Julia at her desk

Wednesday August 14, 2019
8:36am
5 minutes
On The Brevity Of Life
Seneca

The wind is asking me to spill my secrets
I will not do it unless Mr. Jeff Buckley advises.
I am asking him a question and he answers
with his death cry and I listen, listen, as if he
knew my soul better than I did

Do I leak out the truth or do I bury it in the
backyard with all the other blood, all the                                                                                                                                                              cracked lips and hunted soft, do I, do I,                                                                                                                                                                Mr. Angel Jeff Buckley, do I, do I, do I?

We don’t all have the answers or the space
to dig them up since some of us want to
keep the soil on the earth instead of eating it
for breakfast and then again when the clock strikes midnight

If the wind wants me, should I give her the
whole of me or the hole of me and will she
notice the difference if I stood there shaking?
Mr. Angel Man says that these are the only options.

The whole of me is the hole in me, negative
space as much as the weight that I can trace
with my finger tip, do I, do I, do I?
I spin the web from underneath the deepest
pit, the ones I vowed no one would ever see.