one day there will be a recovery program called iphone anonymous Or January in Southern Cal

I had chocolate today

its made up for the lack of movement. 

when the skies grey up like this 

part of me spiders in

curls

its a matter of sinking really

and I can only seem to hear the soft folding of my leggings each time my knees bend

its not even a sound, more of a kiss

I enjoy my legs in the sleeves of stretchy fabric

more than Kyle does

his stimulation is sourced elsewhere 

as is mine really

stuck in the nasal passages inside this running face

running into the sheets

running into my hands as I remember the things I was supposed to do are un-do-able today

(national holiday)

plus the overcast-ness 

but it was rather nice Saturday

the fog at night

over the boarded up shanties lining the mostly abandoned Venice Beach

muffled the bench v can argument from one bearded slinger to what may have been a woman

I was too far away and didn't have my glasses

he was yelling at her for something

but my sneakers and Kyle's boots already had resigned to look at the big black water
first time this year
sleeping bag clouds slowly receded their nonsense sounds

expansive

the dark widening edge

the mass of darkening grey floating overhead

drifting pirate ships swam across the moon

Buffalo gals won't ya come out tonight 

won't ya come out tonight won't ya come out tonight?

buffalo gals won't ya come out tonight 

and 

dance....

she wasn't full
she was sifting in and out of sight 

there was no use
my chin let go we were nearly there

the waves hooked something in my chest 

a pulling then crashing source surrounding splashing around the sound in the divots of our ears

I imagined the great squid
drumming underground in a deep salt stadium  

I called to her, "Help me--

this new trip around the sun again?

wtf?"

crashing smash

cool froth sipping my fingers, "Take me with your momentum

take us both and teach us how to play under there!"

"Send me your coasting current!"

something to fall back on...

to know -- to know that something's there

Only the slumbering fog

sand beneath me caved

this grey fog'll stick around all month

clinging is a type of winter here