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