#34 Poetry


She drove; / she only drank Red Bulls / and had a fount of uncynical / innocence I couldn’t compete with, / I mean she sang the radio / the whole way back / while commenting I was / the only drunk in existence / who wouldn’t sing or dance / to stuff.

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sweet dreams

I’m so glad you are doing well and I’m feeling better now but I need you to know that I can’t sleep these days and I can’t write. So I’m up all night trying to stick the brightest star on the tip of my tongue. This is my soft apocalypse with one breath I become.

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