poems

handed i turn my back toall your pretty visionsbut too late,i have gazed upon them all. herding all my thoughtsinto one corner hanging onto the dearest, the wayyour left ear movesever so slightly,whenever you breatheas you sleep

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hmm these rock formationsand the green saladreminds us of everyone we’ve ever metbut we ever met once, specifically we had a house on that hillbefore you killed me, that iswe didn’t have a dishwasherand you were getting my feet soakedin cold water, specifically watch the white linesjump the gaps in betweenonly way i’m coming back…

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