a red hair in the ocean
would
vehemently and at length
solve all my problems
I’m the same
over a fruit salad
the sky is not
the same group of kids
and tables
I must be craving a new language (you speak my)
(“Probably somewhere down here.”)
after the treadmill
upset
last Sunday
felt like sleeping pills
the new buildings slow at rising
a product
(“Because he’s stupid.”)
just hit me the right way
like someone touching me how
