Awake again. Always awake (always already awake) with crickets and the sea swarming in these oreja vacuums, I remember when You tried to write the Whole Anatomical Sky on my ceiling with glow in the dark stars.
Swerving in and out of the same thing for years, what bitterness I could have grown. Did grow. Am growing. A certain heaviness. (what is Happening inside of me?) We’ve all felt it.
In that Film….a flute the bone, and we wept. Every Capital implies god. riddled. wrought. unripe. Why’s to follow, wise.
open to suggestions: