Yesterday.

A frazzle mess of
black bean bumble bees
and tell me that she drinks a lot

a hot of sorta knotty naught
I want to make you
kung pow shots
but you don't like
infusion meals
and pretend I didn't steal it.

Is he happy?
What's happy really?
I'm happy.
Then he's not.
'cause you are.

Barcelona doesn't understand
that tapas is meant to be free.
My Christmas tree is black and red
all dripped in chocolate truffle.

We caroled on the
uke-uke troop
and grinned as the North Pole
surprised us.

But I've got spiders in my back
can't wait til the nothing returns.