these just words back from the blank page. I had a
great bedtime with your eyes down on me, keep waking.
floated and fulfilled, beautiful weather, are we dancing
taller? take a break from the interstate—
12:06—see the dirty windows. which costume are you now?
and just barely into Connecticut (our secret state) when—whiplash!
I am not you now (I do not close your eyes. I look up
and you have not closed your eyes like always. could this be
the tearing down of my life that I have always wanted?)!
I am not you now. beautiful weather—this blank page—MOMA. I went to the G
Bar — how many years was I there? in a little silkscreen
you show me your action figure. he is high.
your new jacket and strut—this is the life for five boys.
juvenilia. just keep track. just keep reading. I slept across the
street from Carnegie Hall. Depeche Mode was here. your
face keeps changing (“my God what have we done to you?”).
typical-gay-materialistic-sexistic Miro. Japanese textiles
are eating the blank page—or Milk Chocolate Milano (intell
ectual) angels? what’s with the abbreviated thing? if God
has a master plan what is he doing here exactly six years and one day less?
