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
When forced to choose between certain disembowelment by a ravenous Minotaur
When the future star was sweeping cereal dust upon weathered wooden floors
My twin spends our final day of teenhood in a cloudy Cincinnati apartment