Deliver Me.
I told you in so many ways
Of my failure.
My indebted fakery
To deliver you nostalgia
In sweet tombs
Of fields that never bore
In jovial youth.
Only-Repetitive-Nature.
Kitten Heels swinging over wild flower fields and you were in my first-five-pictures making licorice rootennduring a -we-made-those-plans-while–youwere-alive.
And I still held you to them.
1943 unpacking brown tables from a hundred years or more.
What do I have to offer?
MORE STORIES ABOUT YOU.
And I only got around to it.
Fuck.
And I don’t mind it.
And I don’t hate it.
And not everything I write is a Bradshaw show to yeehaw-gothic to some type of dismal 14th century limerick. I want you here and THEY WANT ME THERE.
Midheaven CLOUD 11.
Clover dandies in field of dancers.
We’ve tumbled, y’all.
And The House; behold!
I kept it together.
For Y’all.
What the hell else
We got to hold ourselves to
To stand up for.
Good. Christian. Screws.
+.my.nails.were.+catholic-not-good&enough.
Fucking Licorice Root.
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