2016
I will meet you in the open air, & pet your pony’s nose. You will be
every story, especially those promising finally to grant the square hat with tassels, is a load of shit. the god which
the conquering child turns 50, gets the gag out its mouth, says here i am. let’s play now
of the things that make me become better only music is unlike surgery
there are never really any angels in god’s company, it really just pretends them
i love you for the doubt you show me still possible in this body where you show me
if you enjoy this pain, all expressions of it, being here compiled, then, yes enjoy them, but
why is nothing i can do now. where it went. what that echo means, if anything
being drawn back unlike a bowstring but down and in as water finds the lowest
dopplergangers in case you both explode, who knows it could happen, true love too qui… like a limerick, obvious stupid si… like things aren’t. also, angular
leaning into, not against it. no, decidedly for, yes, always that, no matter
a breeze. already know what’s what. shut up. kiss her. shut up...
you are guilty of failing to love and understand me, like a dog is guilty of failing to speak or use
man, it’s hard to come down from impossible hopes seemingly
webwomb’s not the maker of me. came into it as falling is done. down, only always
.jpg?locale=it)
