I have friends.

Via txt:



Kevin:
Goongoongoongoongoongoongoongoongoongoongoongoongoongoongoongoongoongoongoongoongoongoon.

Megan:
Vooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo.o.o.oooooooooooooooooooooooOooooooooo0ooooooooooooooooooooooon

Kevin:
g00nm00nsp00ngo0o0o0o0o0o0on

Megan:
Voontuneloonbloomrrrrrrroooooooooommmmmmmmm

Kevin:
Coon. I mean that as in racoon, not as in the racial slur.

Megan:
Or that dude who was in charlie brown.

Kevin:
Frillz? I thought his name was Coung or something with a ng.

Megan:
You are correct, sir.

Kevin:
GOONPWN

be the puppet

Lifeless lolling eyes,
unable even to plead (bereft of their commander),
gather dust and do not blink.
Knotted strings hang heavy like so many
poisonous desires. "If only" echoes emptily.

I will not be the puppet
longing lonelily for the familiar
menace of a manipulator.
My unused muscles are buried
not so far as to be untracable.

Farewell to pull of practiced fingers,
to choreographed responses,
to tensing, slackening,
to intermittent, useless dormancy.

I'll walk.

Big booty, numbah fo'!
Numbah fo', big booty.

Woven

Hay doods. I haven't been keeping this up lately due to a lack of alone time. But here is a poem about George and Emily in the play Our Town.




We are woven, you and I
and have been
since earliest uninvited dreams
of:
Who is this unmasked familiar?
Hold me. Keep me.
Spin me up, I will not struggle.
I long for timorous, tangled limbs
and secret somewheres.
I long for you.

The faraway calls but I can't hear
for my ear is angled obliviously to
slurp the sweet nectar pouring from your lips.

The faraway calls but I don't care
for We
are woven, you and I,
unbreakably

Together.

Big booty, numbah three!
Numbah three, big booty.