Wednesday, May 4, 2011

Dear Impossible.

we shouldn't be doing this.
fragments of epiphanies  like brilliant blisters for your teenage temple.
a sacrifice of smoke slipping through the shallow shadows of atmosphere.
so much to fear here my dear.
so have a corona and loan me some tissue.
a new jersey slice of organ.
beating the senses of l.o.v.e. back into me.
(blank) right off, i'm a refuge.
i thought it was you that (blanked) me.

Dear Impossible,
please swim the seven seas to reality..
pick up your paintbrush and paint yourself next to me.

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