#FreeVerse
With whom do you leave yourself during reveries? The one making coffee or doing the driving—
Sad, fat boy in pirate hat. Long, old, dented, copper—colored Ford. How many traits must a thing have
The very flatness of portraits makes for nostalgia in the connoisseur. Here’s the latest
“must represent the governess for, of course, the creature itsel… could not inspire such terror.” staring at me fixedly, no trace of recognition.
The jacaranda, for instance, is be… but not serious. That much I can guess. And that the view
spider on the cold expanse of glass, three stories high rests intently and so purely alone. I’m not like that!
What if I were turned on by seemi… or “extrapolate?” What if I maneuvered conversation… words? Perhaps the excitement would come…
So these are the hills of home. H… nearly subliminal. To see them is… double, hear bad puns delivered wi… An untoward familiarity. Rising from my sleep, the road is…
If sadness is akin to patience, we’re back! Pattern recognition was our first response
There were distinctive dips and shivers in the various foliage, syncopated, almost cadenced in the way
You may “have” sex— but those round sink—holes beneath the off—ramps, scabbed with whatever
Discomfort marks the boundary. One early symptom was the boundary… The invention of hunger. I could use energy. To serve.
A girl is running. Don’t tell me “She’s running for her bus.” All that aside!
A career in vestige management. A dream job back—engineering shifts in salience. I’m so far
The doll told me to exist. It said, “Hypnotize yourself.” It said time would be transfixed.
