A controlled habit

Tipping back the flamingo bottle
lit from the inside
&#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 knowing all the while that
&#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 death is out there
&#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 welding pink shadows to laundromats

It’s not about what you have but
what you’ve lost

&#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 & the sun sliding down the silk sleeve
of a sky the color of boiling kool-aid
&#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 just now starting to dissolving into
blue blue nadas

&#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 The ocean breeze competing w/the
traffic on Hwy 1 for our
&#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 eternally divided attention
as we knock down the auguries of innocence in rusty tidepool
sessions
&#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 &#160 with blonde on blonde enameling