Dormido

To all things

crying out loud!

Chicago soon, bringing home school pamphlets for two.

You're back.
I'm back,
and flat

We're both getting flatter in all areas fluid full,
just in time for my yearly anniversary of sitting in soil.

Maher, salas-has-bas.

Inde genus durum sumus, experiensque laborum,
Et documenta damus quâ simus origine nati.

Carpaccio

'Real birthdays are not annual affairs. Real birthdays are the days when we have a new birth.'

Great people.
Great images.
Kindly behind tables and chairs.

I'm not that serious.

Rarely do my feelings touch my fingers, and this town has an unending swirl of long I long. In an obstacle of psychosexual stages, I am orally fixated in a grey body of four components, and life is trying for me. I'm sorry to those whom I've neglected enough to pass gritty sweet gestures that don't fill the cup of the ones inside me, but maybe it's time for a new approach, and new passengers.


I sat at the sea's curb and watched the shadows fall on critters because you don't have time
I've read books you've always wanted to read because literacy doesn't appeal to you like it used to
I chant lines of Burgess to you while sitting in chills, and you can't see it but I'm talking to you
I've neglected the beach because of us and slur memories of lion coated sunsets on car tops
I wish you were here, you're missing everything darl'.

fort cotton.

Be nice to me.

If I try to think in this town

What's out there.

Crystal scones and mile stones.

Sorry it had to be you, Emily.

Deep in the woods, I see a promise land.

Because of the language.

Stuck in a real triangle, and I don't go out. I think about the world for a sec then hum hum hum hum hum hum hum.

A mess of things. Among things. And sort of, other things.

Van der Heide

.

I heard a skull crunch, and I sneezed blood across the coffee table.

It rained today and I didn't have your umbrella.

and you think of your new bright doll
and I chew on those words
and I chew on your doll

I need the time to realize what I really want to eat in the morning without deciding to go hungry; sitting on my bed hunching my shoulders and deciding whether your snow is really what's missing. Condolences nowadays have been purely financial or meaningless. I'm afraid of using a foreign tongue towards the city and another towards you. I yelled "Fuck!" tonight when I sat in my car because that's how I've been taking everything. I'm dirtying my mind and all I want to do is wake up with the detumescence of my mouth magically synchronically achieved and clean skin.

I can't lift my pinkie.

I've had an image of this hat since the Norwegian winter day dream I had months ago. And this, like the dream, isn't as serious as I'd hope the walk around Mjøsa would be.

Bacon again

And some from our own

I want my head in between god's knees, my nose towards the floor.

I want to sleep slowly through the entire night and to stretch my neck backwards without breaking it for another. I want to eat more so my skin glows and I want to sip my lost purity back inside. I want to rest my head on someone's adoring knee so I wont think about god or how nice Charles Starkweather looked with Caril. I want to see more dirt on my hands and less of spoiled ice cream, grease, and roller skate bruises.

I want this because nothing else seems enough, and I want this because it's all that's worth holding.