Peptic, lachrymose, you create a file in real time,
close several bank accounts

follow the clouds to the end of everything.

It was okay . . .

I mean the philosophy of shared disaster.

A landscape leading deeper, leading deeply;

The middle of the body’s the dreamer.

Now I’m a believer.

Wanting it to happen over and over again.

Like when you're almost dog-fucked by the beauty

of the thing you grasp and observe—fake goal posts.