Blessed economy of days plus or minus. The dowager days, corn on the cob. Day one again. Day one again. Day one again. If i had an orchard, I’d work ’til I’m sore. Many admitted and many declined. Days of eerie jections. Cheese sticks. Wowzers.
The horse is more or less off course you could say always cut the horse and keep the crystals pissing which is to say take some names down some blinds, have tea in the evening or just [holy moley, I] as ever I pitched for a couch outgoing in disposal broken as in my fridge is, as [...]
I think about whether real relation has a place in writing. Whether it is work to say these things like we’ve been saying them all along. Like all we were thinking were these things that needn’t be said and are and are also so so beautiful and arranged and un worked and whether it is [...]
Blessed turkey, blessed ham. Blessed hammer in my head & days fishing. Which side of the dock will we fish the most fish on? Which seat rains the most rain the further and further back we drive? Sheets of days smelling slightly of mildew. Wraparound porches that wrap around France. I have a thing in [...]
that all thinking is fraught I reckon with work, with perturbations in the shale of friendship, with hailing and calling on the hail to break us down. With the kinship of ever outlying areas of expertise. Synergy, bitches. With the precision of compliments offsetting any general malaise that forms on my head rashy and whammo. There it is. My [...]
Home park. Moonlight. My day, the moss on which all things are felt, are green, stink. The wet and blow dry. The shitting of birds on my hair. Blessed are the work weeks, on the shoulders of clients, bags’ flaps on my facing, days armed. It is always cold inside. It is perpetual. Blessed are [...]
