7 June, 1:11 pm
beach house method: 6 7 1 7 6
And just to admit now
that days have been, and not to
remain
throbbing visibly from the
spying. Reminiscing
not am I of his trembling
tempers;
his salt no longer crusts
my lashes. Wearily
(now am I the nervousest,
and
said it isn't mist, it's dust,
and awareness of my
satisfyings, sitting soft
in
knowing forever that I
swim regardless of him.)
(he, an unmentionable
different.)
(he with his name of only
four consonants. Counting not
that one particular
elusive.
A letter for sometimes or
always... The sane, the sane,
the same.)
Hot,
in temperatures, hot not
in heat. Tempered to a
tepid temperance, and the
somehowance
of a superior quiet
around me, if it could
be called it. Because of being
spied,
and maybe the other &
I (,that four-consonanted
fellow & I) could birth one
another
without the shadows; that I'd
like twilight, because with
with with the danish I wasnot
lacking
in twilights or craving for
them, not in he or the
other fellow, the bread-fellow,
he
and his vowels, or anyone
else in worlds/ so it is
happenable; who could care
about
mist anymore anyway,
and who could care to skip
a spying with anyone
on
such a pretty earth; all
the prettiest types and
their prettiest tastes, such differents
when
good, so good, so common.
