these days

in the hot noon sun I blinked
a thousand singing colors gone
blended to a light brown haze
of bars, hard bodies and jobs
bringing to life new normals
toasts to nothing, little to say
I used to be my own color, before color went away
blue and burning and bright
cold and close, too hot to hold
I used to be my own color, before the death of color
before being young felt oh so old

oh home

crack and creak of an old house
dirty at the edges
sweet ghost of cheap ground coffee
drifting, presspot, trashcan, closets
the air feels older than I do
lingering, misty, soothing, calm
dust singing on the hardwood
I am home, oh I am home

I will still love you.

I will still love you when the snowfall sets in my hair
peppered in valleys between stubborn peaks
redbrown cowlick mountains with streams at their feet
rushing cold focused through canyons that climb
up brown hairs and red hairs and white hairs of mine

I will still love you when the snowfall sets in my hair

hello.

this is a blog where I will write things. I hope you like it.