poems by Megan
cover photo by Keren MD
A change in temperature I wish I could cast petals, Full heads of flowers from My hands. I would have my Hand in the air, fist clenched, And upon opening: Poof! And they wouldn’t fall on the Ground or hit anything. They Would just burst out of my Hand and then dematerialize Into the air of the room. A playful rude magical gesture with a warm and subtle finish.
The best way toward enlightenment is being able to laugh at your own butthole. It's easier to tickle me out of my butthole than to let me get up out of it myself. "Excess of sorrow laughs, excess of joy weeps." ;') Does irony show us deep things or just provide a way for the Mystery to smile at us as it yanks out from under us that football, ;( Charlie Brown?
A spec appears on the window and stays there. A static thing. Is it sad or just sleeping? I look at it wistfully. Then I think that it is a bird flown into a mirror; a dried up splat in A sea of glass. The littlest island of dust from the room or on the outside an island of pollen. I look at it and am reminded ofÂ all the beautiful things that have died in my life.Â Like an elation Representing genuine love for you or the presence felt from your weight in my bed. And as I turn to switch off the light, sinking asleep on the shoulders of things Akin to shadows, my head is your head as it meets the pillow.
We eye i yeux we you we me &the words where we meet& miss. Sit, and let’s have a couple slow glasses of gold soda water finger tips tapping cold lemonstained gestures in our seats The words eyed slip between slides with zoom times whatever. And then a walk awake, slow talk supporting each other ’s personal science. (and isn’t there also a comical apocalypse experienced from silences sometimes? Or: The places w/e became and How becoming of u\s
tastes like: bubblegum chewing gum
bubblegum chewing gum (get it yet?)
(1/2 man + 1/2 candy kind of weed) 55% Sativa 45% Indica
nice to smoke to, relax, â€˜n finna pass out...