what was it for is not a question to ask of life

 i mean, things happen. purpose

is a manufactured wish combined

with attention bias. the purpose of the flock

or single crow in your path is to tell you

stories you wouldn't say otherwise.

at least that's how it turns out in the technicians

of the sacred. the fourth wall broken by the sim of me.

she won't look away. it's hard to tear your gaze 

from god's face. go into that. have little more, selah.

*

the fiddle leaff fig dries on the porch

needs transplanting. this is purpose

as well as the heirloom tomato 

which struggles in its crib. sun's getting shorter

angles break summer's code. i'm waiting

for life to unfold me off the machine

or get a other taste of this nicotine.

i'm writing the book on ello, the one we never realised,

it's seven pages long so far. i'm doing it between bouts

of hemmorhoids and work. i hiope no one takes offense.

but i'ma do it anyway. so this is your warning.

luckily only ten people will see it in our lifetimes.

so there's that.

 no need for pee shyness.

***

today is overcast

with cousins to visit at some point

and the moving of possessions

from one reality to the next. 

the boy has no home, belongs to the state

who proclaims a right in his interest 

because reasons. and it's prolly better to be here

with doddering old fools than there with 

is momma gonna lose her mind again

and if the cousins come to visit it may just be

norman rockwell memory that holds him together

when he's old enough to reason.