every torch song kissed this ass goodbye in a week’s time when I fell into the graves I dug for kittens
and birds killed by their mothers: a circular seesaw wasn’t enough bandwidth to withhold another
explosion of criticisms and epithets but no one seems to understand the purpose of no man’s land or
Satan’s cast away amusement park Down River. Don’t drink the water, just shower in its lukewarm
drizzle or take another little pop of stabilization and be a good horse, don’t Trojan chariot the
gates, just graze some and tranquil dawn with a red sun reflected across the river will beget an
egress, a portal to every new day with a gag boxing glove on a spring crashes a champagne flute into
yours, just waiting to give a toast only to take it back. I wonder if we were ever really friends or if
you were just waiting to dangle me in front of some hunger of man because you see yourself younger
in me, but it’s taking years off my life just trying to tell you what was plain.