We perched together, dug in roots that reached but did not intertwine for so long to each other
Thin trees rise from the thick texture of the saw palmettos’ sharp green leaves.
Your foot first descends like a butterfly in the desert. You want to be sand.
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