Bike and write

Bike and write journal, June 8, 7:12 p.m.

Don't try to do too much other than
feel it all slipping out yr pores,
brains,
things dropping away like
canker worms off yr arms--

Don't try to feel it all--
the fat girl
walking alone through the park
could break your heart
if you let her

and who knows what
she could
tell you

Don't look for answers in
the gathering clouds
and the seamless grouping of birds
is no auspice and
it says no more than
the sound of yr voice

Nothing will make any
more or less sense
than this moment alone
in the grass by the riverside
when the legs of a spider
make you feel silly and sad

and
we're running out of seasons
he says
sliding down his web
as the sun comes back out
hurry up
hurry up