most sloppy

I'm so fresh,
not worn down at all
I'm such a tight ship
I'm     ask girl
    how you say,
   so tight
I like this better than with anyone
and I say, that makes me sad for the past you
and so you said, don't be sad
       you're my future    you're my future


from your dirty dish work
with your dirty hands
with your master jeans
mustard jeans on
what hi fashion
  sure that
the mess
we bring this
  is home all the time
all of the messages         all of the masses
all of the messages
  every mess
we mess up my bed
I miss my hands into your hair
I miss my arms around your shoulders
you mess up and down my body
you message across my back,
you mess up
  my mind
we missed in and out of each others brains
mass in
mess out
  we are massive pod
on a flat floor flat surface, cush ground
breathe heavy snore me for me
I'll whisper tired hate at you
are breathing so rough so sleep
    estoy dormir
I'm sorry it's just a mess
something called something
  for something
it's unsafe to step across your body
it's wrong to walk up on it
and through all the sorries
we can sure of it laugh at it mess it up more
just call it out
  of love

<no title> (12/22/10)

I make feeling of the brain.  Mostly low-growing, the mixture of that sun and me tryless. A little frolicky. Belonging to the primrose, those strong legs of his. I’m a magnet for choking the mind outright.

I’m not family; I don’t like this like that. Making love, having tuberous rootstocks and nodding strong legs, I’ve been complemented often. A self promoting deprivation. In the alps with deer, white, purple, pink, I see. My ability to create such a young and early death. And berries, unfortunately, crimson flowers with reflexed petals, can get  pretty intimacy only just awhile. In that mindset.

Describing expectantly comfort with strangers, a life donated to my abilities. A circular boat so I can find severe athleticism. Here I am, viewed from inside.

hysteriaparty

haha

I am laughing, it rarely sounds like that, but I am full of it

 my dad used to say I was full of it a lot

 it took me awhile to realize being full of it is being full of shit

I was young, shit as shit didn't cross my mind

I left work yesterday and took nathan with me, and he met her

and she had that shellshocked look, like who's this man in my house!

and I don't care... but I should

  I should care, really I should

I locked us out of the house, I had to call Nickey to ask her to rescue us

we sat in the car

  Nathan drank the end of a bottle of flat rosé

  and I drank an apricot cider from a jar

and we smoked, and we listened to the lana del rey pandora station

  and I read him a bad poem, but I didn't write it

  we laughed

  he buttoned up his pale blue collared shirt to the top 

and he put on one of the bolo ties that hangs from my rearview mirror, 

  the one someone in my family got as an easter present in the '60s

  with the aqua leather and the silver horse running.

she rescued us

  we bought more beer

  we took our beachchairs

and I got into the river.

the others came & I had the other others on my mind

  and I was tired of looking at everything

  like my hair, my body

Nathan said If it's inside me, if it's invisible, it doesn't exist

and I said, What lungs? and the crowd echoed, laughing  

                 Liver, who?

I was tired of looking around until the wind picked up

  a fuzz layer took our sun away

   Where's my son?

then the cotton was floating around from the branches,

  it looked like snow

I looked downriver, the wind blowing all the trees, the white fluffs

and I thought this looks like the strangest storm

  here, with my damp swimmingdress on

  and the warm

  and the vague light of the sun,

but this could be a winter's storm

and this could be snow.

what if it was snowing right now?

the wind picked up around us, blowing us over

I went to the car to get sweaters

I got naked in the car for a minute

I walked on the sharp rocks

I told myself to stop looking for it

to stop searching it out

to do what it takes to unlatch

  and when I'm drunk, it's so easy to clear everything but these sorts of words

   with an understanding chuckle, here & there

but I woke up sober, so here I am again

teeth in, ready to anxiety-attack myself

  but what doesn't go away

  is the knowledge that you don't inspire me, you any

                                     & I don't admire anything about you, at all

  and of course, this makes me feel more the fool

as I continue

something so gross,

  so uninspe-rable

  so unadmire-able

but I'm going to go cut my hair now,

  the ugly ombre that everyone brings up

   because I've got to save that money

   because we've something like 44 days

until I break

   physically

from my gooey cords 

  giving me sicklife

  from your gross shells. I wish this was only but finally about one person

a one You

  so I could have an explosion party, so I could blow you up

but You are Many too Many and my brain splashes

 in an overdone explosion party

   where I'm the only once celebrated, and I'm the only one lauded 

and I didn't even get invited because I 

just

live there

I'm going to call this paragraph, "this is why I hate you" by molly merrill stoddard

hate me because I'm fat, then
hate me because I'm a coward
hate me because I make bodypromises
hate me because I'm ugly
take a chance on me, and I'll on you, too
go ahead & hate me for that.
hate me for being far away from you
  for falling in love
    with any attention-giver I can find
hate me for being an awful writer
hate me for writing all the time
hate me for taking breaths in between
hate me for disappearing
  for ignoring you
hate me for telling you everything
hate me for my honesty
hate me for my certainty
  and for sucking it all away from you
hate me for promises
hate me for my uncertain future
hate me for my sad
hate me for my being a sedentary mass
hate me for kissing you
hate me for my awkward fuck
hate me for my money
hate me for my snacks
hate pictures of me, for images of my subtle movements
hate me for my flatness
hate me for existing, invisible
hate me for my reason
  for my neglect
hate me for changing my mind
hate me for my sorries
hate me for my selfish
hate me for my gross corpse
  that you hang from, yourself a gross corpse

tether

anymore we can just ask straight each other
the anxious can pass, smoke
in an overcast bedroom
  chill
these being the words,
purity ring on repeat
well
may ends
well may birthdays are gone
well I have to move a mind again
  somber just doesn't justice

the flowers are so dead
  & so meaningless that I haven't bothered
  to destroy them
or to even throw them out
I just moved them from the table
onto the floor
  so I've room to elbow around

can it be managed, a life getting saved
time isn't what this was
the great length, big old distances
something so desperate
something so drown,
something so make gel bones
slither
  
   throw a brain away
   puff up a balloon heart & fly up in it
   trust only that
   your hands in the silk sand
   sands in your eyeholes, nostrils
  babybird it to me

I'm sorry my heart is an infant
it should never have arrived alive
it should have been stillborn
I should have had more to drink
  while it was parasiting, puffing
but now I've to raise it up
  nurse it
I can strap it to my back when I go camping
and I can toss it in its harness
  and pull it taught until it snaps back to my arms
 
come on, baby
    grow already

basted

I woke up later than usual but I am in here,

and the first thing to notice me was a tiny little tear,

the backwards kind

been waiting for the sun to rise

so it could greet me

back through the nose tunnel

into the canals

so I'm breathing underwater

drowning in sleep

like waking up to your weeping

like I woke up with this soft dog

in yesterday's dress

I've trained John Shinn to not refer to a plaid shirt as a flannel if it isn't flannel

he calls it a plaid, then

I don't even notice that I do this

but maybe I'm incredulous

or maybe I'm just correct

maybe I'm a boss

it's just a shirt.

do you want your shirt back?

the ironic one

it smells bad

it looks bad,

it's a sad, terrible t

I wish I didn't know where it was

within the handful of those I love

there are some who are more difficult than others,

some do worse, some cause upset,

some I can't barely get along with

some I trust less

some are easier to hurt,

some are wound up, like me

some are delicate. 

But we all remain 

even when one of us loses

or loses it

& we don't give up for anything.

I expect everyone to hang 

because to hang is to be worth it is to want to be worth it.

To say I love you in a silence,

I'll love you whatever,

even though you've lost your mind,

or are selfish,

or are too tender for conversation,

or have overabundant expectations.

I'll be here when you get back 

from whatever terrifying trip

you're on

did i do that

I ate mushrooms last night

I wouldn't recommend it

because being alone in your hair, trying to keep your face in the sun 

or the table candles

while something so frivolous happens behind your warm eyes

like a buddha 

like a shiva

like a bunch of women on camels with eyes in the centers of their faces

and pyramids

or million-eyed aliens depantsing themselves in a fractal,

and all you're trying to do is recognize where you are inside

or maybe I wanted to "open my mind"

but then I realized my mind is wider than the sky, 

that you could lay your head athwart my hips & plunge your tongue into my barestript heart

while I read leaves of grass

and I didn't trust anything, not the lemons & bananas on the countertop, or the cigarette

or even the tea

and especially not the hippies who, and this is the only thing I wrote down, "with their fancy drugs try to distract you... reminding you of things like Egypt"

so my mind tunneled and

and then I thought I would write a poem,  

so I laid my head on my book

and I ruined the pages with watercolor tears

and when Nickey came home I told her I had written

the most beautiful poem in the world

with just my tears

and I thought that was pretty hilarious, that I'm pretty good

and I remembered that drugs can try

but I'm not a festival-goer

and I won't be feather'd

and wing'd

and glitter'd

and halo'd

and bindi'd

or distracted

that it's okay to give up sometimes, just so long as I don't have to

aloneless

I woke up with a lot of you, and was most thrilled for Maggie Nelson and this copy of Bluets I had in my backpack, Kyle's, signed by the author, because what she'd read gives me the runs in my mind, and I was sitting there sweating in the corner of this strange room while she stood in the brights behind the orange & blue podium framed by the tall gold pipes of an organ. I sweated & didn't look anywhere, she faced me. But seeing her wasn't anything. She had a slight lisp which carried me through more maybe. She mentioned the root of the word etched- to be eaten. Etched in my heart. & I was thinking of all the things we've said, I've said & written over & over, and the songs, what they say,

  you own me

   you have all of me

    you can have all of me

   you have my heart

  you have a hold around my heart

                    so do you have two hearts in your chest? is that what makes you so loveable? (delicious)

After she read friends addressed me and I averted eye contact and said I don't know. Are you coming to have drinks? I don't know. They looked surprised, offended. I walked through the back of the gallery. Collages of matchbooks. Giant plastic windmills. A cyanotype of a bike, I yawned. And I calmed to chill outside in the sunset, where everyone smokes, and it's a smokefree campus but everyone's a poet or an adult so I smoke too & start hugging the women I love, and can't talk about what I'm thinking how I'd like to crawl inside of her mind & live there & have her pet me and this just from a brief forty-five minute rainy brain hug. We went to the river, same place I was with you when we missed Alice Notley & Jeff Mangum but didn't miss each other, and I sat on your flat rock, and I had a beer and watched the light on the water & thought about how I could write anything or read anything and that I wanted to be a knowledge tampon and a thought sponge and I wanted to vomit up beauty & honesty. & I did become very honest. Don't touch me, I can't be touched right now, okay please touch me I am ready for you. It got dark & we rode to the same bougie bar where I'd have the same sazerac at a different table, & you wouldn't be there, but the weather would be nearly same as when you were. Someone offered to buy you a drink but didn't. Someone asked what I was drinking, Jim with a Greek surname, & when I asked him for his surname he looked at me like I was too classy a broad no maybe he looked at me like I was old fashioned (which is at this time, what I was drinking) or British or old or young or beautiful or wasted. I didn't get a free drink, because he only wanted to buy me a pbr

                    
                 he asked me what I did in school & I laughed, and he said, why does that make you laugh and then I felt like crying.

Outside on the cement fence in front of the hotel. He said Maggie Nelson, if she'd wanted to, could have turned everyone in the room to weeping. Can you imagine having that power? he cried. I told him if he ever got the power to make us weep everyday to let me know & I'd move in & stay by his side forever.

He told me he schemes for love. And I said you fall in love for six-six-hours-at-a-time. That you told me once no one can ever break your heart. He doesn't remember saying that... two people have crossed his threshold. Physical pain at their nearness. And I said, I know you love me, I know I'm important to you, but why is it that I'm always checking up after you & you rarely ask after me? & that you're so easily distracted? He said that he & you, most of you, are better at communicating through the written word... which is an of course, so why even ask

                      

       It was a full moon & I was honest. I would have told you anything, if there was anything you'd want to know, and some did, and some didn't. I like what is conversational, the meaningful ease of listening to a lisped voice in a muted microphone, she being available through her writing & words & explanations & interrupting herself and the moment her voice failed at her last sentence. I still like what I do & how I do it, the true it, and I do take a compliment that I am such a fucking beautiful person because to me it means my heart still pumps gorgeous in my chest, that I am a whole. But I must also forget the lovesong cliches & the notion of being inside of someone else, or losing my organs to another, of being eaten. I have doors & they're open so many of them in my house that the crossbreeze sometimes makes my hair stand on end.

based on the hit song AMAZING GRACE

kids keep naming their kids Gracie, or Gracey, or Gracee, and I wonder, so are these kids naming their kids Grace & making it easier on them 

to deal with such a supreme sort of name

by childishing it & making it easier on the come-out?

Because the ee-affixes 

are sweeter sounding on the tongue.

Because I'm thinking, in my mind (it's where I think)

as this kid's giving birth in the hospital

or in her bathtub

is she moaning out about how graceful it all is

how this parasite's been inside living off of her for most of the gregorian year

a creature pushing out uncontrollably

about ready to kill her, & finally

that it's filled with blood & skin & miniorgans

and all so grace-filled?

with its little closed-eye expression

& toothless scream-out,

that she, that it be the grace of god?

Gross.

There was a girl in jr high with me named Grace

(& we called her Gross, pretty mean)

and she had posters of nsync on every inch of her room

so you had no idea where the walls were.

I never was inside her room

or in her house

but we were neighbors so when she had her lights on at night

I couldn't believe it.

I mean, nsync is good

but really?

Maybe Gracie in her little stupid babybrain

knows totally that she's just got to get out of there

she's gestated

she's turning

she's got limbs, & little healthful graceful organs

& a little angelic face, so they say when she comes out & they rub her down in soft towels

& stick the baster in her nose

& blow out her kid mom's fluids

so she can stop breathing what she has been

& come out & do it like a human being.

Maybe Gracie in her little, insignificant mind

with her eyes already open,

& seeing better than I can 

or you can

looking about, speechless, graceless,

is thinking 

hey

I got out of there

& it was a prison

& I am a free man

& I will tattoo the world with my fullness

& I am eager to devour it

with the windows open

with the blinds shattered,

that Curtain City is closed until death

which is way, way too graceful & far away

this morning I am

I'm the type who puts the caramel in the coffee in secret, and in doses so small the doses are invisible. It's the kitsch outfits all lined up from bottom to top: silver shoes for dancing, soft-shoe style, though I haven't seen it. I get distracted when I think of shoes and end up looking at them for days, and now I have three documents to write about it all. Moss-green tights accidentally bought, footless, and some cheap fake-denim number withe elastic waistband perfect for sitting here & not walking, not moving because I've pain in my uterus, or in my ovaries, where little cysts grow their little houses. I want to move in. And upwards, pictographs, and an indian-head cardigan. Nailpolish remnants like lichen on tips of fingers. Open something else up; wonder who will know about any of it.

Do you see how that went? how in the morning, early like this, drinking the coffee & sitting half-outside, I'm wandering, two eyes different-pointing, directionless. The familiar music, the familiar mood of the familiar mind, doing its memorable thoughtless moves through.

and there you are

Dear diary, the sun is shiny through me, from windows... oh! the moan from my right! A matutional cry-out? Whence! Alak. Ohhhhhhhhhh kay. so Here, drinking coffee, thinking about the jobs, the jobs, the jobs, the collie dog. And My mind wasn't made for such stuffs.

poem(s) for the mind

from crepuscular orations

My body is too old for my mind.
It brings to mind Samuel Beckett and Oscar Wilde.
My mind turning to compost.
My eyes are dry, my mind is tired, my body needs more movement...
my mind is not the adulterer.
Gaining weight in every part but the mind & the heart,
with all my mind & able body
If I could kill the internet of my mind, we'd be on to something.
This is the most boring thing one could write, mind you.
Avoiding my mind & body, too.
he is so powerful in my mind.
I couldn't mind if they don't
keep in mind,
my heart is more awake today, my mind is more.
I kissed him after he read my mind
on behalf of anyone who is involved in the pathetic game of a weak mind,
he rarely walks across my mind anymore.
In my sick mind.
Willing us in his little boy's mind
and never was sex on my mind.
Can I use it to fill my mind with passion?
The songs into which your mind sank.
My mind was filled with beautiful things last night, I was a true romantic genius.
wouldn't you mind
plays are on my mind.
Blew my mind over.
It would take my mind off sex, but my mind wasn't too terribly on sex;
to get my mind off everything.
I didn't mind,
the last cock on my mind for an eternity.
It is better to get out of here so that my mind is completely empty.
I won't mind once I'm there...
And I won't mind one day meeting the next!
My mind is fresh & pungent & accepting.
Mind is quick & thorough.
I do not only exist within my mind.
I don't even mind at all.
He doesn't mind.
Why can't he just give me a little peace of mind?
and he's on my mind...
all I can do for the sake of my right mind is to behave exactly the way I can & do & tend to want to.
it'll blow your mind.
Even if I love his mind and want more of it,
even if the love of his mind is juice.
I love his mind, yes, it's so curious and I want it,
my own laughter at my own hilarious mind.
Excepting his mind I want to hear and experience.
I don't mind never touching him or kissing him again.
But my mind was and is the deadest.
that will blow my mind.
my mind is over.

from momentos preciosas

If he'd mind, could I?
They wouldn't mind.
I felt my mind's eye wander back and behind me, through the open window
as my expectant mind was, just then, in the walkway south of the window.
My problem is not just dilation of the eyes but the mind, and my mind's hand in my life.
My mind dilates, contracts.
In my last mind I said,
narrow minds abound.
mind-blowing
and to softly let my mind spin webs of ideas and escape-feelings.
Just as the wind moves, so does the mind.
If my mind wasn't blank I could reap so dear and clear and bestow my benefits to everyone.

poem(s) for hearts

from crepuscular orations

The heart goes in and out the veins, the heart thaws me numb.
Why does my heart explode my body?
my heart acts ravenous in my body.
the weight of my heart in my chest.
the constant heart spangles.
My heart dancing.
Gaining weight in every part but the mind & heart,
I could put lots of heart and soul into a dinner.
My heart is more awake today, my mind is more.
or breaking my heart.
how he broke Molly's heart,
most of my heart,
to not let my heart open up on the way.
Into my open heart
who broke my heart,
The craving for newness and adventure hasn't left with my heart.
Murmuring in quiet tones on the porch and my heart swung and I greedily thought,
This is the heart of my fear.
My heart was beating and to have
enough room in this heart for all this love,
we had a heart to heart
soaking into my eyes and my ears and my heart, in a heady, low volume rush,
abrasions bursting from in the heart and up to bubble at the surface.
my heart is a stupid little asshole
because he still holds the key to my heart?
my heart does
the heart is heavy
and my broken heart will heal with immediacy, because
total eclipse of the heart.

from momentos preciosas

that's why the heartpangs.
and autumn begins wholeheartedly.
I was thrown out from my hilarious and lighthearted dream;
I can feel the heart now.

poem(s) for awake

from crepuscular orations

My heart is more awake today, my mind is more.
When am I going to start being awake to say no
it is really a nice time to be awake.
I will also awake with contentedness.
tall & slender & awake & alive.

from momentos preciosas

I'll be awake
I am awake and asleep.
 

poem(s) for a body

from warm snow

I can't keep my hands off a face, hands off a face, from a body,
I will stay here with you, and clutch your body to me every night
But I don't want anything in my body!
I like your body in a bed with me 
the sweet feel of a body beneath tight jeans, fucshia sweater
my hands sliding down a body
I almost never use my body anymore
I would never use a body for sex
at my body
The holding of another body at closest range
too hard on a body,
especially when a body will of course go back and smoke harder and with more intent after.
sweet body
I am tired of this uncertainty about my dying body.
beautiful in Universe hair and torking body
My body is constantly full with the salty fat and sweet things which make it middle-aged.
Body in suffer.

from crepuscular orations

why does my heart explode my body?
my heart acts ravenous in my body.
my body is too old for my mind.
I held and rubbed a naked body and I tried to recount everything I saw and said aloud.
no matter how nice it is to hold a body and look at pretty eyes,
the things one intends through body movement and flickering eyes.
my body steaming.
fires in my body will always burn.
My mind is tired, my body needs more movement...
with all my mind & able body,
do not do any wrong with my body.
Avoiding my mind & body, too.
My body is fading away which is completely unfair.
every second my mouth is on a body,
I watched myself leave my body, my breath was caught.
My body isn't sweating at the moment too terribly,
and how have I barely used my body in days?
My body still smells strongly of summertime,
the body morphing into a filled balloon.
The scent of a body, perfectly soft & real?
Mine own hands on my own body, no...
Body posture indicating a hiding or a withdrawing,
the celebrating coyotes hollering so loudly as I lotioned my fresh body.
My body is like lumps of mashed potatoes.
A body small and smooth and pretty, yes.
A hair-covered body, thin, toothpick legs.
My body quaking, atingle all through...
My body reeling and relaxed, legs out on the porch sofa.
I wish I could lick every inch of your body.
I climb a body, hands across me
with my body, with my life.
Body feels so good with mine, hair in my hand,
a bed, a body, the walls in his room.
There are plenty of sexual bones in my body,
smoothe large body, pretty.
And for body touching.
I do like the idea of hands on my naked body...
I just want your hands & my body.
A body so different.
But I want a cock in my mouth so I creep down a body...
hands on my body...
a large soft body,
a giant body.
A thick smooth body, a face always on the verge of smiling...
what am I doing here, body?
And I couldn't think of anything but my body and the world right there.
I can't have a body on mine.
Get a hard beach body?

from momentos preciosas

How I miss the feel of a body.
I even stretched all my body today
massaging her body,
the human body when it is standing. 
Dreaming is always accompanied by the body's sexual arousal?
When I came my whole body convulsed
between the body and the earth
keep the body separate from nature even in death.

dear old ones

? I think I missed it. And you have, & we know it. I know where you are, too. Do you know about me? never alone? I can see us seeing us seeing me, watching out for you. But for where? is it the sound of a drink hitting your glass? is it about the truths we told, and the one question I shouldn't ask. but will pretend to have not.

How many noses at which I have wondered. And eyes, your celebritorial eyes. Like all the famous men, with the old creases surrounding. And another, yours, with the darkblack lashes. And yours, changing always hazel blue. But the noses. The ones I remember for years & years. The length of one, thin and so sharp I think my soft cheek might cut open on it. &  I can't crave this sight. The possibility of a slice made by one is devastating enough. I'm of a devastation persuasion & have had all I could want of you.

The indifference of a cheek turned, the casual phrases carried through the radio, translated text... the questioning high-pitch of an uncertain voice. The questions which aren't questions. Honesty displaced; too nervous to make attempts for it. The solo opportunity. The failed friend. The mediocre tries, the givens up. My own wishes at communicating bodiless. The mouth & mind, and the staring across a table. The regrettable disappointment inevitable, caught it cold this time.

on dying

Good work we, us. The matutional song lighting the road and my own mind wandering along with the ta-hoo, ta-hoo, ta-hoo of the singers in tallest branches. Letting the pink-tufted trees guide me. Taking the mind out of everything, not letting. The things never to say. It's too late at night to let open a mouth, set forth the ends sharpened. With only the strength of a gentle beast on me to warm me, the memory trying to drain down till gone. But too much doubtfuls.

I make feeling in that mindset

prettylittle 80 - 82

I make feeling of the brain. Most recently low-growing, the mixture of that sun and me without trying, simply. The avocado’s point of view is a little frolicky. Belonging to the primrose those strong legs of his. I’m a magnet for choking the mind outright.

I’m not family; I didn’t like this like that. Making love, having tuberous rootstocks and nodding strong legs. I’ve been complemented often. A self promoting deprivation. In the alps with deer, white, purple, pink, I see. My ability to create such a young and early death. And berries, unfortunately, crimson flowers with reflexed petals, can get pretty intimacy only just awhile. In that mindset.

Describing expectantly comfort with strangers, a life donated to my abilities. A circular boat so I can find severe athleticism. Here I am, viewed from inside.

trues

My feet are cold whilst I sit sipping creme de la earl grey. It's brown woven inside-shoes, and a dark redbrown drink in a tall jar. I use a cat to pour the milk, and from where I stay at table a dreary california kitchen, 1954, soaked all portlandy, and I wonder a clear mind shouldn't be far off. Nutbutters, cashmachines, and the sings of birds of an overcast morn.

I died

I almost died by ambulance this time, tonight it was speeding through with only lights and engine sound to warn, no music of sirens, not a thing. Seconds on time was I, to life everlasting. Disasters distracting as shapes from outwards of nowhere. Delicious departures from certain snowy landscapes (of a mind). Still fawning, breathless. Envisioning seaweedscapes, a mind full and collapsed, envelopes of dramatic dream memory sway, each little disaster eclipsing in on itself. It would have been an anniversary to end all anniversaries, inside but not to mention a full moon to end all moons full. I am so incipient, excited for my day of birth. I will see the 24th year. In all manner of ellipses. Breaths of doom lush ever ending nervesway.

˚ I D I E D ˚ I D I E D ˚ I D I E D ˚ I D I E D ˚ I D I E D ˚

---

I almost

Died by ambulance,

It was speeding

Engine sound

Day of birth

I,

Disasters

In on,

Envisioning seaweedscapes, a mind full and collapsed,

Delicious

It

Distracting ash shapes from outwards of nowhere.

Inside

Envelopes of

Departures from certain snowy.

I,

Dramatic...

I am so excited for my

Each

Dream memory sway,

Inside

Disaster

In all manner of

Eclipsing

Doom brush never

---

To, was with only from the landscapes (of a mind). Little lights and warn, no music of sirens, not a thing. Seconds on time was to life everlasting. Ellipses. Breaths of to mention a full moon

would have been an anniversary to end all anniversaries, not to end all moons full. The 24th year will see ending nervesway.