mxvii

Yes. Coat. Something.

Forgotten password.   A
tablespoon fool.   Please
let me know.   There’s
a sage coming.   To
rewire.   About sex.
Stop thinking of
yesterday in
the sunshine
with birdshit at
whale something.
Benches dried.
Table full.
Singing.   Single.
Studying Hiragana
on Cocteau’s birth
day.   Exhausting
bathrooms.   Birds
bundt caked.   Please
let me know there’s
a sage coming
to rewire new
cowboy motif.
Beauty’s beast
singed over text
sex.   Bridled
pigeon standing

in sludge, siren
beaming.