short goodbyes and long drives.

this is it, duders.
my daughters depart for the southern climes of weaker sauce
and sh!ttier situations this morning.
awwwwwwwwww, man!
hard styles and car rides through all of the lamest parts of new england
are what's on our schedule for this not so easy sunday morning.
it's always the worst when i have to drive the whole way to the
waterbaby diaperpants sh!t-salad of connecticut.
ugh.
that's a helluva round trip, kids.
we'll be spanning time together across expanses of asphalt.
good music and better lunch are what i think we're gonna need.
who knows?
i may stay in the dirt-dirty doo-doo butter for a little minute.
anything could happen, homies.
more likely,
i'll turn right 'round after some emergency tofutti,
and head back to the hottness,
breaking north and running for the hills, an' that.
i hate goodbyes.
i don't know if i've ever mentioned that.
haha.
of course i have.
what am i?
a secret agent?
no way.
(of course, a secret agent would say that)
connecticut.
sunday.
goodbye.
today.
it's all really happening.
***********
i did make some terrific terrariums for the benefit of others, though.
yup.
more of that more-beautiful more-expert jauns employed
with elitist effortlessness and layers of careful consideration.
we don't want them to suck,
but we also don't want them to die.
there's all the ingredients for success stacked on each others' backs
inside that shiny polished glass, neighbors.
check the teleport:

african violets are dope.
especially with fancy gravel and neat lids encasing their faces.
word.
one super-hot microclimate greenhouse is dope,
but two is how many i made, because too many is just the right number.
re-teleport:

yeah.
that's an orchid, kid.
i get busy on these projects because one-subject mastery has never been my thing.
all-the-trades jacking is where i'm putting my mind,
and all the different little things i do are just tiles in a mighty mosaic of overcomplicated
truths and dares and derring-don'ts an' all kinds of other other sh!t,
i'm not a novelty,
i'm a curiosity.
i'm not a novel,
i'm a compendium.
warrior poetry is composed of variety, verity, and lightning.
also,
that's more encouraging than just being a crafty hermit, right?
i sure hope so.
ready or not,
we're on our way to where i'm from.
it's where i'm headed,
but not where i'm going;
never quiet, never soft.....