if i stub my fucking toe it’s their fault so say i, and who could argue? you almost

lie still. be quiet. please understand what happens so, next time

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

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

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

we were all talking, things taking shape as they do, when someone said, be desireless, like that is at all a thing people

of the things that make me become better only music is unlike surgery

man, it’s hard to come down from impossible hopes seemingly

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

i keep smiling forgetting to remember to stop myself.

we are nearly always a world which almost

why is nothing i can do now. where it went. what that echo means, if anything