*****.
What are you thinking.
are you so unaware of what is here.
what the **** are you thinking.
It's crazy to think what you think.
nothing.
I've told you it all already,
how can you say you don't see;
dense maybe.
that's too kind, I mean obtuse or impaired maybe mentally *******.
something must be wrong with you.
I'm happy that it's over.
just ****** for how spineless you are and only thinking of yourself.
grow up and use your words.
Don't spew out ******* I want the truth.
Don't spare feelings just speak the despair.
Don't waste more of my time saying you're crying,
because I've wasted too much time caring.
I'll find someone to care just like I do.
where you can find someone to hide with knifes just like you do.
Watch me as I walk away.
Because at least when I do you will get to see it.
*****.

Either this town is without character, or my own lack thereof blinds
me to what style hums it into history. The brook's rapids are drowned
by the highway roar, central song that never passes through, spilling
over walls and roofs. A railroad collects rust between weeds, silent
authenticity. Impassive clouds remind me of other ways to witness.
And this is real, too; sadness accrues over store counters, fatigue
glowing in the pavement connecting all, cracked and rubble
facing skies a simulacrum grey. Inebriation, par for course,
a hidden semblance of a self-chosen haze within a haze.
Gravity, acoustic footfalls question my arrival here.

phosphene breath--
dark, dark mining town solstice
unearths inner rainbows