birdie

stuck any red leaves in any journals?

i was here.

i adore your new bio. that kind of poetry scratches an itch in my heart

You thought i was rich and i am but not how you think
          I live in a tudor house under the freeway in Mar Vista by the beach
          when you call i take my phone outside to the picnic table
          that i bought from the Rose Bowl
          and i listen to the rushing cars above
          and i think about the last time you visited me
          
          - Lana Del Rey, “Happy”

morning sun. dave bixby.

what a strange life. 
          what wonders it holds. 
          thank you, for being one.

your bio is so beautiful and I have never felt so many emotions in one line. 

oh, poet.
          i hope with a true desire that your mind is lilies and dancing through them.
          i hope that it is not a pit
          [though, if it is, you know that i will gladly sit there with you until we can find that misplaced ladder which is hope].
          oh, muse,
          listen to the song of my mind, will you?
          it sounds like 80s life, by the good the bad and the queen.
          i think you will be better for it.

dear, dear birdie
          i think about you while driving a lot, and while trying to think of what i should write next. it fills me with hope. 
          i hope you're more than alright. 
          you're always remembered on this old site.

helooooo