shade it up behind those goggles mr.

maybe or not it seems less realistic.

for it erases like a sweept up rubber against my skin.

it hurts until it bleeds like an unarmored barbercut trend.

lend me your hands
i can make music
out of the clay
you left unused

day after day
i stay confused

line after line
it was read until the vines
didn't play violins
but nowhere yet

darling

have i found a sign
of this
that is

now.



baby, sweetie, lovebirds' tockle.
i muck myself clean of your honeysuckle.
i lean over to sea
waives
that should have swuckled me
but calm is to realm inside this atmosphere.

heart-headed.

probe-fed.

poems of the past.

what lasts lasts.

and i may be wrong:



but i still believe
after all those praise to destiny

as destiny allowed it to be
my belief

is un-plockably
strong.