myimpossibleandyouacross

I read books, and slowly lose words, more and more. Then a red bird across my throat. Then my blood, and a child standing in the doorway. Then the night sky is thundering. Then there is a song for this sweat. Then there is stolen.

I love you innumerous. I love you gallant.

I am not writing. I am break out of an earth. Help me, champion—cavalier—wretch—god—wound.

I can't (clockwork) express (discomfit) what (the lambs) holds me.

What is not experimental, this cardboard, and skulking, over long, cold arms.

The only thing I ever wanted was a head full of daylight.