The smell of cran-apple in a red cup
It reminded me of the smell of those, those brunettes
The ones that seem to know more than the rest, all knowing restful eyes I guess they weep when no one's about (I guess but feel I know).
The ramshackle structure ahead
I breathe it in like polyester. The black cragged crackle left behind -
Why me then with self deprecated respect I seem to owe nothing
And owe everyone else. What the fudge was done with the brooding clouds above
to hate me so (hate miso?).
Needing to connect the collection in the hazy trudge of connection An internet of things, the binge of ego: leave wanting hands empty. Who allows it? Certainly not us or you or you. Snap me up.
Hanging on the railing a few weeks ago,
The chill penetrated the cotton of my burning back
You were with me no one else could And I hung there, trying not to crash into the cobblestone faux
A one stole my bag of scorpion lollipops
And I hope they've failings beyond the recognition reckoning surface
Like Pollyanna birds of Doom
Shall descend upon them like the thunder number 9
"Church," he said in the distance.
"8" was all was replied.
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