If all my compositions are a form of modern divination, and I can write my future out by hitting my space buttons, then let me always write about you, about flying, and about melting.
There is nothing else, I find, that I can say, that is not happening. Well. So. Here it is! All this. And everything comes to a frenzy, and we will make short work of these perfect days. I worry, you know, that I will dissolve under scrutiny, without my linear words lining my backbone and keeping me upright, rather than my standard whipping coils. I cant help but pace. If I could be as well delineated as my hair! Do you see why I have not been sending these poems? They are all too much about THIS, and I am not convinced that I should be saying or thinking any of these melting, soft-serve thoughts. (Not that I have gotten anywhere near enough invisible reassurance for my nervous need to support your happiness, as the only method possible of supporting my own. I swear its absurd, how much I know your ghost-smiles matter now.) If all my compositions are a form of modern divination, and I can write my future out by hitting my space buttons, then let me never get caught praying out your awful bliss for you, like a magician. ** _______________________________________________ Five7Five mailing list [EMAIL PROTECTED] http://www.pairlist.net/mailman/listinfo/five7five
