To say How we use a language
pulls us and our words apart like quarks.
A drench morn
The wind becomes aeroplanes in the trees.
All that waving take me
on empty Sunday walls llsh
Elbows on the counter and watching the
A rainy empty Sunday morning walks into the crepery. Y
I need to do those dthings I'm supposed to
Lisht are not supposed to live that long.
marks, scribbles and Strike-throughs.
My jojürnal has lost its virginity thank the fuckit.
All numbers made of three, elementary
partiecles. Moody slow aeorplanes. Typing drugged through the even
somethine sleepy in my torso is