Monday, October 19, 2020

 October 19th 13:04

A row of white boats, a blue boat

I act nocturnally. I have secrets

Dress me, it’s my birthday

Four days is half a week

A kind of envy

Made-up, smiling, lobotomized

There is a fine art to sprawling

Young skin before the scars

I can’t spell potato

Large birds, loud noises, sharp beaks

The clink of lanyards in the wind

Let’s try another approach

His cell, his shit, his portrait smeared upon the wall

My 109th pair of shoes

Inside the crescent of the baby moon

These things unbearable we bear

Buy me a book, then I will read you.

Arthur is jazzing up his scooter

At low tide, is it ocean in the pools?

The Lion wants my iPhone

My mother’s compact

In Starbucks, a woman screaming

Let’s stop hanging upside down. Think outside the cave!

What if God is actually of His trolley?

The lines that trail from stars

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