bringing up the sun.

and i know it's not even cold yet but i still wait for the sunset. two limbs, favored by wealth, feeling like magnetic pulse. phone phone phone hurts head but remembers putting on a tux for brothers wedding. he thinks that washington is a nice place for breath, he being me. type i s w r o n g s o a ll he favors is the flavor vanilla. irish import, nonetheless. and the type only wants the pattern of letters across the screen and fountains for the threat of apology. i'm sorry that i don't mean less, mean more.

fake leaves and real response flowers make my dreams come soon. i hear snoring and i feel ok about that, about him and his even minded collectedness. and the words only want to be meaningful and collected; they only want plurality when the verb agrees with it. so: squint. make all on the page, digital or otherwise, make them all careen into black ports and small white canals, to the degree that your laziness can only move through them at the speed it wants, that which is dictated NOT by others but by the one you call home. here's to sweet liza.