i could not conceive of such beauty, it had to hit me like it has. nothing

god is unwelcome in suburbia, the cells are too comfortable there, & love rests best under stars.

does a king come ready– made, or doesn’t he emerge from a prince once a frog, and aren’t you

better fucking eat it all up. time is getting drunk & may puke, be rude, before finally

Fieldwizards and firetops. Wobblybirds on snowflowers. Chilled milk and chowder for the little prince. Mothercake for mumbled thanks.

STEP BACK! There’s an infection you’ll get if you come any closer. It will open your eyes through the crust

life and even one good thing– anything, a course in wonders becomes? no school, thanks not for me. no lesson one so likes declaring to find itself legs. no

unspeakable dearth of nutrient the cause of the complaint, lack of the sweet titmilk of human connection,

first fruits hardly a handful, the garden