(2014)
webwomb’s not the maker of me. came into it as falling is done. down, only always
let’s put all the stupid things in a pile and call them “love” or “worry” or
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…
the center holds itself still that rockets believably may be seen exploding in all directions from somewhere vaguely
like bell bottoms or disco but we need it to think i’m dead
i could not conceive of such beauty, it had to hit me like it has. nothing
does a king come ready– made, or doesn’t he emerge from a prince once a frog, and aren’t you
reflecting on the moment before, would be useful only were it not already perfect.
there are never really any angels in god’s company, it really just pretends them
oh, and how it gets you these bastard assumptions, one or two commonalities
you are guilty of failing to love and understand me, like a dog is guilty of failing to speak or use
finally, without knowing it was coming, he got to die. it was great. like a birthday party clown, he was equally the center
may be too onerous a task for those not starving. lucky
I love how you talk Down to everyone In your poems Which, unlike fiction Are not covered
here in the middle of the bottom of the lie how obvious