GaPS

in

TeeTH

'GaPS in TeeTH' by florence oulds poems & photos between cornwall, cambridge, colorado & california

i dont even write like this any more I watch you pull blueberries from your mouth every morning set the live ones in jars and pour the rest down the sink to swell to change the patterns of the water until it is dying our palms pink and wetting the gaps between our toes with its overflow. Now we are numbered and can never take to other lovers because we know we will see each other on the surface of the blueberries we will pull from brand new mouths sometime in the late afternoon.

POEM IN ALL CAPS (Jenny Holzer's ghost) ALL YOUR EMOTIONS ARE PROFOUND LET YOUR IDEAS GROW OLD WITH YOU IF YOU WANT THEM TO IN EXAMINING HIS LIFE'S WORK SCHOLARS DISCOVERED THAT WILLIAM BLAKE HAD REPEATED SENTENCES HE WROTE AS A TEENAGER ALMOST WORD FOR WORD IN ESSAYS HE WROTE AT THE END OF HIS LIFE DO NOT BE ASHMED OF THOUGHTS BASED ON BREVITY (A "LACK" OF) MATURITY OR MINIMAL TO NO REFLECTION IF THEY STILL HOLD UP UNDER APPROPRIATE SCRUNITY LATER AND IF THEY DO NOT DO NOT FEAR BECAUSE YOU KNOW, BY KNOWING THAT THEY ARE FAILURES, THAT YOU CAN DO BETTER.

73% "body comparative" tumblr photoset: 1) a selfie of yr gorgeous mouth, yr kindness, yr sending me sunset snapchats with captions about how important i am to the world 2) a textpost that gives words to something you created with 15 consecutive seconds of images and text which makes me get out of bed and start walking towards you.

Sprout i heard music where none was playing like how you talking about our common ground had warped the memories that were caves running under it (you cannot be blamed for this: the earth is bound to move which we know as things that have grown from below) i had always wanted to be like you, so i messed up my room in search of music, but found nothing. and we built statues of each other in our backyards and told our other lovers that we don't know who we are. so tell me: is that noise i feel in the night you making my heart beat or you making my phone buzz.

Sufjan Stevens Plays The Guitar Nicely For Everybody how wonderful it would be to love yourself, horns wailing somewhere not too distant so you know their colour, but not necessarily their purpose. with your shirt fitting just right you are not afraid to the cross the road to somewhere greater, to the liquid gold that you collected from underground places a lot less light that has pooled where the pavement needed it most but it is all yours now, to make your body out of or just dip your fingertips in, leaving your joints out of Styx on purpose because you don't have to live forever or do anything but love how you tarnish with time.

ishouldnot i have to be tucking lots of things away like: money to make matter to your bank balance to sign language lessons to teach the gathering cuts on my hands how to be quiet & where they came from from always leading with them from always a straight fist into flat door handles so instead they are bruised, not open like how the fire door is shut to stop you from finding a home and for all its wood, i cannot get it off or be out or open, except in small identical rooms explaining how i am identical to you. i tell & wish even with all these words for my money's worth that i could be perfectly easily passed thru i would not be just a machine for forgetting words & missing deadlines & imagining things you think about me and imagining things i shouldn't. i want to be less i want to be so little that the idea of energy couldn't be so as poorly explained by this out-order mouth as to be lost from the universe because i was never here, and it is a special kind of absence to make a word never spoken, to budget more of your time on wasting it, to tuck it into a double sheet on a single bed where the cost of old habits is doubled meaning i'm going to stop reading laws of the second kind to ensure that i don't come back as me a second time.

YRlando me & ginny woolf down at the park me & ginny woolf lusting after the fisherwoman's heart me & ginny woolf talking about the curve of her neck me & ginny woolf bleach the blood out of our cheeks me & ginny woolf give up painting and write books all afternoon me & ginny woolf wake up with a burning desire to kiss all the succulents in the county me & ginny woolf play male privilege bingo with tv news hosts & cheer on the bus driver who nearly ran us over me & ginny woolf haven't seen you around here in years me & ginny woolf take one of your hands each and debate by subtle symbols whether to leave our red colour on your skin or pull you apart like horses me & ginny woolf speak dutch terribly until midnight where we are overcome by a thirst for water, oranges & orange juice. me & ginny woolf have something to tell your mother about what modern psychology and ancient astrology think about your future. me & ginny woolf before we know about all the horrible things we have done. me & ginny woolf have everything we need between us: a compass, a map, a vegan quiche, all of her novels & matching water bottles. me & virginia woolf never did exist firmly in the first place

yr sign is always next to mine in horoscopes. but of course it would b, u massive gay.

pink candles for micah crushed velvet in my mouth & "the story of what the night is thinking". when i am dead you can assemble me from the stacked messages in your inbox sometimes we reply, sometimes we leave everything on & blazing & screaming while we go for walks like dutiful kids like this actor's an asshole i don't think we should pay to see this. remember when i was in some sorts of love with you in another book too? i was reading hamlet, but saw more truth in imagining U on some bench, preaching sunshine to a peninsula crowned by it with you in the middle and all the movies i want to watch with you, later moving somewhere you could (theoretically) get to and finding their namesakes where the fog rolls over the hills surrounding the strangers on the train who cramped me into the delicate thought of U. i thought you were going to die but instead you're getting your teeth straightened & if i can't stop talking about the gaps in mine you may as well suck some parts of me out through them. you said you wouldn't change anything about me but some seeds must fall off of us when we move to make the plaques that say where we lived and where we died.

Head Wound sometimes after so long away, just sitting down with reality feels like a victory. Until you wake up underwater (or in some water) until you wake up with slug trails on your forehead: HOW did THOSE ANIMALS make YOU to BE; WERE YOU CON-STRUC-TED to BE BROKEN INTO PIECES? and with you so YOU, with you so I and so MEish wrong in EVERYTHING what could (your) little birds possibly know about me? I have not wanted to hurt anyone for exactly a year now but in those times you get the feeling (right behind your eyes) that everything is NOW UNDERWATER; NOW, UNERWATER AND smaller; i don’t see two ferns kissing i don’t see soil kissing ground i see someone else’s arms always stretched out in front of me "i miss you, i love you, i wanna stitch you."

Let's pretend we are pot hole filled in with tarmac that looks exactly like you on the road where we lay waiting for cars to kill us or the bugs to leave our bodies or for the sun to set and burn them, set them racing right out of our skin. flower of complex beauty meant only for killing an undiscovered species which happens to look exactly like you.

do you still hate things arranged neatly

and disassembled in equal space?

12 yr old me in a play park who looks nothing like you.

I WANT 2 LOVE U LIKE THAT GUY WHO YELLS "MONEY" IN THE VIDEO WHERE DRAKE FLIPS A PANCAKE

a machine for breakfast i haven't listened to regina spektor in a year (& you tweeted about her being pro-isreal) but now i feel like i am steaming towards you, like our heads out the window like climbing on the small rocks and climbing a tree for the first time, opposite you. we should have fallen straight into a pond and drowned in ice cream and freed all the animals and i should have stayed in the corners of your room and made you coffee & breakfast every morning. it seems like i was given all this unrequited body so i would be the perfect shape to fill a door frame and that is why all the perfectionism, all the worry and all the wanting to be wanted; all i am for is to: wake someone with breakfast and: hope they were dreaming of: me & i am a poet because i can slam keys as hard as the pianos i cannot play & i "don't know anything" and in the future we will both be robots on the internet and there will be no coffee left to make but we will be watching every episode of the x-files, simultaneously, together, if you want to, robot angel.

I WANTED SOMETHING VELVET SO BAD

MY BODY CRACKED AND SPLIT OPEN MILES OF SKIN

JUST FOR THAT HEAVENLY THING TO FILL ME IN

hollow shape with just enough room to fit parts of us in "when should i tell you?" could mean tonight or tomorrow or years from now when our meeting is more than eating with the same people, in the same places. how long do i leave you sleeping silently next to me across the length of both of our countries and the bullshit ocean inbetween.

TO FILL ME

"YOU...HOPE...I...NEVER...DIE" on an escalator 2day, i cannot see but remember waking you up in your door frame and suddenly, not 10 minutes alive we are on the streets and placing parts of ourselves in recycling bins. i cannot see anything of myself for all of these things your cat has given me [like the real definition of a zombie] so give me a razor or some damn oestrogen because this beard is killing me. while at the top of the stairs & in the ice cream isle the mountain goats are playing all the beautiful songs we have not heard yet. we need work, we need admittance fee, we need to top up our oyster cards but we go, splitting, and split in twos. i feel like one of us should have been playing violin or maybe a little cello or playing Teague Cullen playing the voices of children on found cassette tapes over walkie talkies in "A Supermarket In California" to each other or tap dancing somewhere, to laugh out Kate Bush and the devil and your ballet shoes on the shelf next to moulds of your teeth and One Hundred Thousand British Sea Power Records

or maybe we should have asked our ancestors to take a picture, to make a portrait for when we take our grandparents names to feel closer to re-gamble our favourite body parts back to full health to get better scores when we match up our names in imaginary latin classes where we are specimens made up of Jordaan Mason songs in business back alleyways & preserving how we looked that day in pictures and tracings on clear plastic sheets which we shake to sound like the end of the world [like the real definition of a zombie.] i don't have much to say in the bird's nest business of recycling words, i just want to be sure that last year actually happened

Frankie Cosmos We need a word for the light coming out of our heads.

People Who Want To Eat Me room closed i saw the leaves on the wallpaper roll like flicker like i could be underwater with ronnie and the old song where jordaan is trying to chew their arm off and like opening curtains to think i am stepping out & rotating right slightly like: to be truly objective i've removing any opinion of mine: slot someone else's in here. the ghost walking past and flicking the towel upwards for a moment it is christmas. we all ate all (the) forests. i have to take time now to think things through before i talk i have made hand movements to sift through that pretty water. people learn to move too: when i am cycling air they crane their necks a bit closer a lot of us are thinking about kissing but only some have to think about dying. if im doing more thinking why and i doing less sense-a-sentence? well, these multivitamins have 100% of everything this is how they have made me: functioning. stop all the leading lines, make them curve to fit between our fingers. telling you how many ribs you have . rip rip rip twist tear; make sure you see me before you go away and don't leave the lights on too long. small power in writing out right words. laughing girl on field at night does not believe that this is witchcraft.

DAMN IT ALEX I HELD HIS NAME VERBALLY AT ARM'S LENGTH: THERE ARE TWO HUNDRED THOUSAND THINGS I COULD DO WITH MY TONGUE AND IF ALL LANGUAGE SHARES A COMMON CAUSE THEN I WILL SPEAK YOU SOUR FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE UNTIL I HAVE SAID IN EVERY POSSIBLE WAY "STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME"

Il n'y pas de hors-texte 1 veins in winter you are sat round the entrance but the warmth comes from underground. how out of the era of the eye is where you cannot see how others may hear me and see what's said about the 'him's we don't want to talk about. we are some 'us' days ago and soon weeks lodged uncoloured and long in the dark watching french films /a line i promised you i promised you that line/ i promise you it is hard to be cornered, to make sense of the ends of lines again when i have not so much forgotten them.

2 I am a nervous system stimming wrists and words pulled back and not said or seen in mirrors off to one side around hair too scared to keep staring at, too scared to let fall on feet that would talk about me. What will i regret in the taste of longer time? him a month, you a week what does this look like to me, looking at you. ("how does the world perceive me/ perceiving myself?") There are so many pieces of me coming off everywhere: all people move their hands best to hold rocks like they could do something with something held out from them selves like they could move in and out of violence they didn't know about aimed at things they will never know about but: there are right sounds i can make too and look how little i can be! when every body speaks wrong-ly.

3 We are all always doubting we make laughter in saying "what would you do if the grass & trees could feel. and the 'they' they could feel was you?" well, what else have they been doing since we first felt it at five? a small forest of unlike leaves coughed me out and sat and held me hand-cradled against the earth and after i was told that dew is sweeter by the sea or out the lip of a rose of any colour there could ever be And so I must have cut off All of my Hair So they could't see The Dead Things Gathering.

4 tell me how you are feeling in French or Italian or some language that you know to me has no meaning all those words are yours when there is no right listening happening. and this is what it is like maybe you know: maybe you know, maybe you could find out talking Italian to me while i am sleeping pretending not being woken by even the most desperate of things.

5 so, as something realised & failing, i'm asking, with these things they say they can put into me to take all the worry out: wont i just rot through them too? do i skip a/the comedown: do i just splay myself out all smiling and shouting LOOK! LOOK! LOOK! LOOK! LOOK! it was all right here! & Right through the middle of words I wanted you to hear is where a break will naturally come when anyone else hears it.

crosswords for witches & the places i find you when i am spilling water only for it to come back into to me through you in a different room I Am, Suddenly, and there is a light coming out of either side of a metal bracket on the wall farthest from my body. There is music that i want you to hear, that i want to be louder, that i want the voices outside of the room to hear too. my legs are raised and my big toes are locking in the space which lives as evidence of what they used to be before I had them. My head is raised too, on a clean pillow, so my body is a small baby blue bowl to collect rain water in. Your jacket is draped over my records to keep them dry. I am not dreaming about you, but instead i am thinking about the rolling-sheets-of-cotton-under-my-skin feeling in a more specific way. I always fall asleep at the start of the story and i need to stay out of my dreams and stay in my body; I need to create nets out of the middle of pens and catch the mothballs out from under me. With my hand on my ribs, this is how I am thinking of you. you know my room number & i know yours. we match up our posters and linens and you have been to the same places my friends have, so the sand in my pockets and the grit from your boots find a way to stick together to better increase their chance of getting home. you maybe look a little tired of moving, because of how we are always so in transit, because of how we live in jars with screw-top-lids and how all our clothes are forever resigned to the back of the wardrobe, how we are forever resigned to always wondering if it will rain and which parts of us we want to be see-thru. we stop talking to try and figure the next part out, to take the pieces of logic and make all the barriers work. Your skirt is made of velvet and there is a helpline for this sort of thing. It comes straight to us, straight out of us and all the hallowed way through the nitrogen cycle and straight to into the mixing bowl of us into the orchard behind your hands and out of our window to where we say would be great place to practice Witchcraft. I mark down the points of you: Apple, Apple, Apple & there is a Green in the crescent-moon-bruise on the skin i can see above your boot and Red in the dip that runs above your above your lip, the dip that is two small things that could be soft, that could be ridges of skin that could be curtains of skin made of what it is of you i am seeing when you are looking at my mouth instead of the weather outside. Philtrum. we forgot the name of it on a crossword later that day, but i don't think i was talking over you to find it, I think our matching letters cupped to each other to give us some sort of new thing, like finally fixing the broken

light just above my doorframe and taking the stops out of your window to figure out just how liquid glass is. It isn't. Or so you tell me, but for now all it is a tree that we will one day see turn green. I am still looking at your lips, but now after moving in circles we have found some other place: the last ever 'e' of the cycle, the linchpin of a palindrome pulled out and kissed on the mouth. The conversation this time has been 'completed.' It doesn't have to be. It can start with the door open and end with it being held between thumb & fore, it can move out and up and Over without ever feeling the "whole" lengths of skin & the colours it can be dyed & washed on album covers we love yet we cannot all have the same names for the same colours we are seeing but i can see You seeing it to see u seeing, it to see you seeing it in all these words we will examine weekly I can feel you knowing what I am going to say for having left it there. For a few parts grit and several parts sand we sure do make more than just the bigger rocks we used to be. i don't finish and maybe you don't or maybe we both do or do next week but finishing is given a new name when we don't have to continue from threads that we have perfectly sealed, in some pretend perfect place where that is possible, in some pretend perfect place us clashing stones have rolled to. There are other words to cross over elsewhere. we wear different shoes and this time i find you in the moon in a puddle, in a white we didn't expect to see this close to the city.

Bed; Leaves the tin can strings have been severed the tree trunks we hollowed out have been filled with the too-obvious cement of time so there is no space for the wretched & bucking miles of our bodies clutching & crawling out of the infant chryalisis of not talking about ourselves too fondly, of the first definition of what love was to us. our keep holes are no more, meaning we only have what we remember of that language we were talking up: "Do you remember that time when...?" the rope swings are not long enough the rope ladders are not long enough our tin can strings have been severed, more: making the wind than being the ringing chimes of it.

learn some secrets, never tell start to think again metaphysically when you and your friends leave the city. john darnielle sings us just right when you feel how short the hair at the back of my skull is but find it thick enough to hold on to. only one portion of sea goes green in sunlight gifted to not be with the blue i thought i was. your name in stone not as permanent as previously believed to be. single yellow line wrapped for miles around your head cant help but become your new tongue: when you swallow it you can no longer taste sweet things. the more clothes you pile on the more hemispheres your occupy the more conscious u r about being just a body. picking which girl we’d be in the 'cry for judas video' you say: we can choose all things ourselves, we are choose to whisper the same words but i cant get pregnant, and you don't know how to talk to satan, so there's that..

who even drowns anymore

and i have seen fox on grass smiling and punctuated by cars circling in slight-nod reverence to the giant IKEA sign,

the highest thing for miles until it is us i see, but more you and you and a GLACIER where it shouldn't be & SMOKE in you when it shouldn't be but: the icy water around your kneecaps is

~*clear~*~ so there is no salt to take off my skin when i am reading to you on a bed made of pictures of ceilings we sent

YOU PLAYING PIANO YOU PLAYING PIANO you on the floor you can see the little brown birth mark under my hair you could have taken YOUR PIANO STOOL

and you could have killed me and i could have died in that little bedroom and your cat would have kissed your cheek instead but: what i mean is:

i haven't seen the top of the golden gate bridge but i have seen joshua standing in front of the city shining i haven't seen behind my own eyes but i have compared the PATCHWORK of two countries

and somehow i am still HERE

my attitude towards everything these days is: You Should Shave Your Head after hearing something that changes your life forever you find equally parted comfort in just-right warm-water in an underground bathroom on your taut skin. it is at least a little bit beautiful. So, in coming late to, to you, you realise that last night it was the clocks that set you further back & she says you have never been in linear exchange anyway. you are thinking about how warm your hands were while missing the warmth, presently and worrying, presently about exactly how many times you will feel cold enough to definitely be on the edge of being presently thinking about all the different cold tap solutions of how to die sometime(s) in the future.

sorry micah I WORKED MY WAY THRU YR SKIN: SOMETHIN ABOUT "ACID LIPS LEAVIN MARKS ON YR GHOST" SO WHEN WE LOVED OUR WAY OUT OF OUR SHELLS "I COULD FIT MY MOUTH 2 U" WITHOUT THERE BEING "THE BARRIER OF US" ANYMORE CAUSE THATS WHATS "LOVE USED TO FEEL LIKE" RIGHT?

Don't let me do anything. please tell me about your blood movements please tell me about your mermaid theories & superstitions please tell me to stop getting nervous about using clichés please tell me about the letters you would add to the alphabet please tell me about what the placement of sound in music does to the comprehension of emotions in the brain, if anything please tell me how to explain to my lecturers that i tried my best not to think much over the summer please show me where all the different bugs come from and go to in your room at night and if closing your eyes makes them stop please explain please leave me floating on algae water please don't let the fertiliser runoff kill all the fish via the overstimulation of algae please let me be a body for algae to possess please explain why it is the certain things disappear for a while then come back together in common clumps, come back together in the same word over and over in different pieces of media & dreams and strangers talking louder than you can think them out please find me a diary that goes on for years, but contains only a single self portrait of the author where the face is obscured please be the writer of that diary, in secret please write all my poems for me and feed me soup please burn the tips of my fingers every time something dies and it's my fault please stop me from drinking milk or eating eggs please wash off all of my skin please ball your fists in my mouth and stop me saying sorry please lie me down on a sofa and feed me vitamin supplements like grapes please laugh at the right times please don't laugh at how my limbs fall in photographs "please don't confront me with my failures, i have not forgotten them" please don't exaggerate arguments, and then criticise your exaggerations as if they were the original thing please steal my art, but only if you're going to make it better please read me "the little prince", or some other story from your childhood that i never touched, and bury your fingers into my hair please tell me what to do with my hair

please hold my wrists down and beat them against the stone of a wall then my hook all my fingers round the coils of mattress springs until i understand rhythm and can get all these nonsense hymns out of my body please tell me the exact taste of honey please tell me the exact taste of you, in spaces when we are considered and in places & minds where we are desperate please let me hold your honey in my mouth and lick the excess from where they pulled teeth & nothing has grown since please cover my face with your palm so i can smile into the hard pink lines of you and your future please hold me under water please hold me under your water please let the fog grow so thick that i cannot see you are drowning not five feet away from me please let the fog grow so thick it feels like you could be only five feet away from me please tell me more about the autonomy of our hearts and assure me that our bodies are not bystanders in these accidents of pauses and saying the same words on top of each other please know you are more than my one person, all of you please speak to me in the language they discovered all others stemmed from, but that you have been speaking into my sugar speckled skin this whole time (you have left your dust on me, faerie, but i can only live so long in the late summer air) please tell me the honey justifies the Bee Stings and the Dirt, even if some see them as the same thing laid down in the same Genesis 1:28 sentence, and so they cannot understand considered lust when we agree to come together and i am tasting the honey of you please tell me how to deal with these things that have gotten more complicated and grown in the dark when i thought shutting my eyes would keep them in stasis please know the only true description i can give you of any person or action is to ask you to imagine what they would look like in the silence before language

'logically' award for recognition of the self. someone knows. there is crying on the radio but you cannot hear it for your noise cancelling headphones (why is that such a romantic media?) monument on a bare hilltop. choosing not to develop housing projects in a forest cancels out its being "wild" because the loveliness of its silence is not just the absence of human voice or work boot or tire tread the sunset of yellow pressure on your clinging fingers, leaving my body alone in a field; the malice of a wedding ring not worn. not wanting to leave house for a walk at night because u wont be there: it wont be the same night. sound of someone walking in corn sound of bedsprings from graveyard i sunk a rock out of my hands into the field the marks it made on mud were a palindrome by chance like how i would end up in your bedroom, with you half naked explaining the byzantine empire to me like how because of where you went to school, the first palindrome in your mind is one spelled out on a small white thing. u were married once

thought experiment: beat me to death and leave me in the sea thought experiment: when i die a unique pattern of thought will end never to be repeated in the long stretch of the rest of the universe thought experiment: i will only accept the concept of all possibilities existing in an infinite universe if there is a me out there somewhere that is really fuckin hot

Feel Good About Your Body, But, Also, Destroy The Idea Of The Body Two Thousand And Fourteen

IM THINKING

GREAT, ABOUT YOUR MOUTH ON

FOREST-FIRE-BUNRT-TREE-TRUNK-BLACK- COOL

OF KITCHEN MARBLE COUNTERTOP LIFT UP YOUR LIP TO SHOW ME

HOW EASILY YOU CAN TEAR IT OPEN STICK YOURSELF THROUGH THE WINDOW

I AM TELLING YOU IT'S THE SAME COLOUR AS THE SUN OUTSIDE

YOUR THIRD FLOOR WINDOW WHAT DOES THAT MAKE YOUR TEETH?

LYING EXACTLY BETWEEN LIGHTS LEAVES IN YOUR HAIR BUT

LOOK HOW FAR YOU GOT INTO MY CHEST IN JUST ONE NIGHT on our knees until our blood is gone

you can count on the movements of habit to get your muscles in

thighs as curtains i keep waiting for a message but i don't know from who: the bird on my shoulder? the bird left and leapt up and landed inbetween my teeth exactly when you wouldn't say my name right, my right name that i couldn't possibly say right when you said i had a strong jaw line, when you flapped the smoke out of your face because your mother had smoked when she had you so in reality you should have understood if my birth was so hard on you too.

------------------------------------------------ 'sally prayers' Number One your tiny clay hands held my plant to the sun cover you di d of the "song fast car" "f ast arc fact care i, i song abou t being a girl i told yo u and you are shopping you are the process of exchange of differentiating the blurring of your head when you turn it to look at me from the rest of the blurry people in the background of the shop away from you you look like fingers in your ears the sky was like i knew why people still use old video cameras in modern videos, you say O O O o when trees look real as ever, as ever i loved you ever4 ------------------------------------------------ 'sally prayers' Number Two "no its worse than that" hovering in mid air running like a cartoon but when you wake you cannot shake the same sound from your head from your dreams from you singing it yesterday with my hands i take all the water on the table and all you can say is "could"

it turns out i couldn't have gone to that modern baseball gig anyway somehow in walking together we came into each other. I Think. or that’s what the feeling in my chest said. our fingers had seen something unusual out of the window, and in their new blind placement on keyboards had typed an unexpected word that was not unwanted, but maybe we had to earn it maybe it was random maybe the right number of hours had made it statistically likely maybe we knew we would write about us some day after sharing the space of a book. you get a taste for that, but i'm sorry about the bits i don't remember and how my mouth runs in conversation like i am taping over you, and how i was trying to think for you and like you when i should have let you, you. i have a guide to moths in the draw where your embroidery sits on green & blue, waiting for the right shirt-light to settle on (but i guess my colours where not what we expected when i spent three weeks seeing only the red-soaked red, white & blue.) some numbers make it impossible to imagine an end to counting out "maybes" & "i'm so sorry's" & "take all these words from me, please."

some numbers stay similar because you have to imagine them, so can i make up for losing last autumn's london memories by buying you some sushi & e-cigs sometime? i miss you and your poetry

Health Reasons i'll put to fiction the whole night behind you so you can talk in Maths and fuzzy-blood but, Hey, I woke up as a different person this morning. we prayed that there might be fake fire all night and when we shaved your head and i shaved your Head you shaved a little part of me so i was light enough to leave up all those flights of air. the scars under my hair said i don't know anything, now, so i don't have any future for my lack of information but there was a girl with black around her iris who knitted a place i couldn't be; the only thing i can talk about with any confidence are things to keep in your mouth so you stay, Quiet.

Recovered from a notebook get out to start running we saw dragonflies for the first time this year, the farmers agree on the sparkling things they agree there has been too much rain, everything is growing so big that they have too much to sell the market is ruined but they have not grown enough to feed their families and there is a long sad speech going on across the country as they walk small steps in front of fires i had to leave! this [...] gets everywhere i could hold firmly but you'd be surprised how hard the hand that lets go can hit too, i punched myself out i punched into a place where i will never be right for you or i so it is someone's birthday and someone is [...] and to one side all my things are hedging me in and on the other they're too far to touch with my hand on yours over knuckles marked with you please im going im GOING ive always been afraid you find an ending to a story i made up about my teeth and bugs and it was all a big pantomime to say: life is hard being mentally ill but boy do i wanna eat someone out "i used to know where i was going"

well there's your room right? days there are appointments and all time is making me sick everything i plan out is making me sick so what am i doing it for? im ready all this hair will smooth me down to go out WHOSE LETTERS WHAT LETTERS WILL THEY READ IF I NEVER WRITE ANY HOW OBVIOUS OF ME THAT I COULDN'T WRITE SENSE you'd know it if you talked to me so DON'T READ Me.