and America’s in love while America’s bleeding
Alcohol Virgin Philosopher Kings club meeting, 7:30 sharp with homework and unsettled melodic war, all cacophonous in the background and you’ll wish you were
a shooting star flew over our heads today. did you know it’s not actually a star? it’s a meteoroid burning red white blue like
1. we, clouded with error create from the language of breath an earth, murked without wisdom but the reaching of so many hands
Each day one by one they inspect the grains
Every summer, I sit sautéing in coconut sunscreen beside Korinne at her pool, eating pink strawberries straight from the vine, drinking Fentimans Rose Lemonades with slices of lime until the sky swirls creamsicle.
The book on your shelf called Herbs of the Earth implies the existence of herbs of the sky, of the sea. Mars, Jupiter
Stand tall in a graveyard of dead wedding flowers and refuse to turn into a ghost.