The years of my youth, my sensual life—how clearly I see their meaning now.
Like a mouth set in the frozen ground. & how our childhoods were informed by it—this innate sense of something missing.
Today even the cows are tired have lain down, tuckered, tucking their legs beneath them
Only the stones know my name.
The back of our family’sKing Jamesforgot my birthdaybut still keeps a blank spacefor my death date.
Winter and summer the watchman sat on the roof of the palace of Atreidas and looked out. Now he tells the joyful news. He saw a fire flare in the distance.
what color is your collar Boss is your backbone sore from bending over when you clap your hand against your thigh does a little cloud of dust fly off
I am tired of this place & want to take a slow train to the moon— Just jump the rails out past the pale peeling walls of this here room.
