wednesday, april 20th
he picked his words like they were long stemmed irises of pure blue.
and the steam of fermenting citrus lay on the air beyond the wall, beyond the wall where there was a landtip.
mollusc selecters wrapped in salty cotton, cattlebirds in that way land habituees visit the water, deliberately and delicately spirographed around each other.
in this place i have counted many cigarettes and thought about why they were there
i have wondered why there are diverging opinions on what is clean
here is always where i feel life like crunched up cellophane in my stomache
here is where my feet don't touch the ground when i run
here is where there is always something that will bite you
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