desert of stems

Quantities

Grass stains the sun, orchard corpse, the snails all bundled on a rock, sorry shells so hard to write about things I like.

It's called front? What do you call it. This is the first I've written in weeks, a rhinoceros tattoo.

Canasta. Won't happen unless it's eaten.

You walking in front of me. Me walking behind you.

The stamp on my hand is a crown. I've been drunk for six weeks. Squirrel meat. Paper mate. The kitchen table is piled with papers and.

And I know you. I hope you. We call the cowards and hear in our dreams. That's too bad, too flexible. Cold, crisp, delicious.