if day has to become night

Hello.

Here is some poetry. Thoughts about existing in the world. Ideas about technology.
Send your own thoughts to my brain at ipromisethisisnotspam@trumanshuck.com.
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Hi Catballs
existing in the world
Catballs left us on September 10th, 2024.
This is a letter to him that I wrote over three weeks.
Thank you. I love you. Goodbye.
Software in the Autumn and Winter
ideas about technology
A system of software that grows unceasingly
becomes gnarled by past decisions;
it must be allowed to succumb to a winter frost
so that it may flourish anew in the spring.
On Goals and Happiness
existing in the world
For as long as I have had a recognizable sense of identity,
my goal in life has been to be happy.
This is an unworkable goal.
I walk a little more slowly toward the horizon
poetry
I walk a little more slowly toward the horizon
than I did before
(each step a question
answered by an echo)
We confessed
blackout poetry
We confessed.
talking about your First Conscience:
The name was hell
and we were interested
We move along
blackout poetry
We move along,
shook with power
I allowed a little smile
a shoelace rolled-up.
I try to
blackout poetry
I try to
Think of you
You could write
rich voodoo
You're primal
blackout poetry
you're primal
young
You know that
knew it before your
Sometimes I feel old; I can see
poetry
Sometimes I feel old; I can see
time collecting:
a fat water droplet bowing some
thick grass stem
I knew a girl who asked
poetry
I knew a girl who asked
in a voice as soft as the
lighter bits of evening
to make everything clear
Above my small bed higher than I can quite
poetry
Above my small bed higher than I can quite
reach standing on a wobbling chair
tiptoes an unsteady dance of
stretching arms and air currents,
If I bend my neck back just enough
poetry
If I bend my neck back just enough
each wrinkled crease a slithering earthquake of skin
I can see where the tallest spruce
begins to pierce the bottom edge of the sun
(the wind)
poetry
(the wind)
And I don't care (causing bark to
lashsnap whip the dark) much
if I'm (and water to drown the sky and
When the summer sun carves
poetry
When the summer sun carves
a boiling trough across my back,
I think of reaching through heavy air
and grasping a silver handle,
When I die
poetry
When I die:
with a skin papyrus paper
and shakenbreath trembling
eyes like ocean fog
We slept in the closet
poetry
We slept in the closet
on a queenspring;
white walls sheltered cloud-
stitched blankets and
Sonnet I
poetry
The snow drifts down, wearily to the earth,
and bitter winds blow, stealing life by touch,
as I look for my home, my wondrous warm berth,
a train bound west, my belongings I clutch.
The mountain high
poetry
The mountain high
the valley low
the ducks go quack!
moo! Cows go.
Thanks for your time & attention. Site title from e.e. cummings' who are you, little i.