time to check in with a close friend to see if she’s still a crowd of one or more
an apocalyptic vision it’s the rise of the space man you know, I think you might be part robot under there…
and the wait continues…always on my bed of nails, breath held and reality suspended, questioning whether I did…
taking a drive — we still have yetto christen the tires,you watch me climb in — starry gaze locked…
I trim the heavy matterslike split ends,brush through my nagging thoughts,comb them to the back.
you’re a little bit lost, you think.as you survey your surroundingsyou expect unease to swell within,but you’re still inside your mind, you watch…
the air isn’t crisp,it’s stale.the leaves that fall on the path,brown and insipid.becoming the mud as bootspress them into their home.