(2015)
I just felt what I think I’ll feel always, once we’ve finally met, and share this cool space, like an open secr… It felt like all my favorite songs…
Fieldwizards and firetops. Wobblybirds on snowflowers. Chilled milk and chowder for the little prince. Mothercake for mumbled thanks.
every story, especially those promising finally to grant the square hat with tassels, is a load of shit. the god which
being drawn back unlike a bowstring but down and in as water finds the lowest
oh, and how it gets you these bastard assumptions, one or two commonalities
the center holds itself still that rockets believably may be seen exploding in all directions from somewhere vaguely
this being we are, delights in all things, yes but is held breathless
I love how you talk Down to everyone In your poems Which, unlike fiction Are not covered
you are guilty of failing to love and understand me, like a dog is guilty of failing to speak or use
of the things that make me become better only music is unlike surgery
shut my eyes and squeeze my demand, the point of a spear. what will happen.
unspeakable dearth of nutrient the cause of the complaint, lack of the sweet titmilk of human connection,
nobody goes mad on purpose, also never is it not shared,
if ever someone is my dearest ear who hears my truth as theirs
drry awfl drd sys thngs tk t lng & y bttr hrry lst y