The haze of my memory against the night is staggered, which is never a good step. I am at best completely out of whack or on a vengeful hunt for oblivion. I sit here, now, socks under tights, toes crossed.
***
I take your challenge. I have been asking and I say yes.
*I'll let you know later, I say with eyes half spent"
***
My ears are a hum of refrigerators, the whirl of the drive, my momentum continues to lead me nowhere. I am again against the tick tick of my nails, I've had them painted Hollywood it's cardinal red with bitty gold flakes, on the keyboard. I am a hoax of a jester, left dancing the solitary blues like a minister in the dark of the moon,
***
I have not been well. Clearly. Not the best care to say the least. I have wretched habits: I smoke and collect dinosaurs. I have grown passed the acceptable age for one of those and I have to swear right now in this minute of time across forever, to really choose one over being one. It's not funny, fucking stop. I am beautiful. End,
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