woke up in the kitchen saying how the helld this shit happen oh baby
to practice
the why?
remember the garbage destroyers, the ones
who takes the reproductions you do
of you, the waste you
think you made enough of
from the black notebook on the table, an open letter:
I am sorry I doomed it on the drive, in the dream, from my body a day after
those little caresses on the
hairs of (my?) a heart
coming true
giving me yours, make it
I'm glad a glad a
it started pouring down tropical rain
and I went out into it
and Chad came out, flipping off his slips
and soaked himself in January
January in the Tropics
you deserve your name
invisible limbs
a cloud of verse
make me
full
funnel
you
make me forget
that I'm my month
and I'm hunting for my
full
wolf
