my two nights
in a row under
Hotel Huntington I
have a nasty blister
on my thumb
I’m inconsistent
anachronistic
paper pumpkins
a new phase of
window over
my life of yellow
butterflies and
no sex
hummingbirds
and pigeons
it’s a lit yellow
butterfly
I’d glue myself
inside your
closed eyes
what seems
a smooth June
it’s lit
closed eyes down
what seems
smooth
on the 17th
we’ll be
moving stuff
3 yellow butterflies
best way I can
describe it now
write more
single-handedly
billowingly
pipe dreams
this saga
