bat on the ceiling
watching the cool kids smoke
I feel myself
divided by the porch light into
everything, nothing, and
the bat on the ceiling
12 minutes closer to
death by the cool kids
smoke,
sweet,
lips that can kiss
and wish death on me
smiling watching kids smoke.

have  you felt death before?
Penetrating deeply inside falling
like light falls different
depending on which eyes are watching?
you are the boy smiling in the morning
reading at the coffee shop
I am the boy walking by you.
which shade of black did you see in me?
was it any different upside down?

I came out tonight to watch you
smoking something sweet
maybe smiling
sleepy
I close my eyes but the light comes through
Penetrating
whether I said yes or not.
what shade of black is the blackest,
and will your answer change depending on
whether you are lying
prone or upended?

every time I wake up
I am different
depending on
the light that day.
I want to sleep
and know whether you are
smoking sweetly
or sour smiling wishing death on me,
I want to know for certain that
the color I am seeing is the
black that is blackest.
I want to go to sleep
knowing I won’t wake up
hanging upside down from the ceiling
blacker than I was before
knowing you won’t turn on the lights
to see me hanging from the ceiling
**** running down my legs
eyes bulging
blackest I have ever been.

I want no light to penetrate me
whether or not I say yes
not saying or kissing or
smoking or smiling anymore.

Last night you were inside
Of somebody else,
How was that?
Was that a perfect fit
Like a wet puzzle piece you have to force in
Did it get better than
Mediocre at best
Did it reach the levels
Of tantric ******* hours
Did she taste like spaghetti?
Savoring the bit of yourself you spit out just for her,
Did she lick up every last drop?
I want to know.
You wouldn't tell me,
You said,
You didn't want to compare,
I think,
That's a baad, baad sign.

I guess if it was just about *** for you,
You would have ****** me and
Left, right?
And the fact that you
Didn't do that.

And that you
Called me back late at night
To sign up for abstaining
From something we both
Really like means
Something
About the way you feel about me?

I have a feeling it does,

Considering the way,
You kissed me before you left
The other night
And turned from the door
To tell me to look right at me and
Tell me that you
Loved me
And that you
Hoped I believed you

-How are you feeling now, about this?
(no reply)

Another thing
is when you told me that you warned me that
feelings might fade
while I’m away, which
is 2,875 miles and for 71 days
which is
a long time and far far away

another is when
you said quite
matterfactly
that what with the way you felt now
that wasn’t an issue
anymore

-How are you feeling now, about that?
(no reply)

Even if it happens
that's ok
all I can say is “ok ” and continue on with my life
so the stakes aren’t so high as they feel
in the bottom of my stomach pointing up
to puncture if I exhale deeply
so it’s ok,
for that to happen
it’s ok
for you to fall in love while I’m away,

in a way
it would be a little like a
premature death,
plenty unfair and filled with sadness
but also with the
relief
of absence, of the weight of the potential of
something newborn,
lifted.
you don't have to care for
you don't have to raise a
dead baby.

How are you going to feel about (this) (that) me?
(no reply)

You thought I was easy but in reality I’m the world’s most complex puzzle and the deepest labyrinth you can’t possibly hope to hit the end but you can try baby you can angle my body and my mind in any way you want to and by all or any means give it your hardest hit. But I’m very flexible, I can bend endlessly to match your bends and are you really big enough? I guess we’ll see

I wish my hair weren’t so big I wish I could live for a second like a testament to the fact I wasn't alive I wanna be invisible I wanna be a better me who pays her parking tickets who never ever ever let you know me from Jack. I’d be so cold I’d be somebody you didn’t know somebody who’s letter you left alone and who you gave a **** about. One day I’ll put you in a story and everyone will know you’re dirt on the ground alcoholic ***** and a sad mistake.

I see my body in the night against white sheets like a dark shadow there’s a pale face in the window illuminated by the porch lights my throat’s closed up with shock so I can’t scream he’s absolute stillness eyes wide watching me the darkness all around him starts to melt and move I’m frozen in the bed
When I was little I used to have escape plans steps in my mind to play out the moment the windows break or the doorknob starts to turn I’d hide in the hamper under the clothes when I woke up from a nightmare I’d run to my mom’s room and get in her bed
Now I’m grown up so I live alone and I have nowhere to run and nobody to save me so I don’t run or scream I just lay there looking back what else can I do

I don’t smoke
So much anymore
Even when he’s
Chain smoking in
The seat
next to me I don’t
Smoke
So much anymore

we ditched the main path and ran up the mountain bike trail,
gained some elevation,
we found the rusted remains of a car wreck off the side of the trail
that must have been sixty years old.
afterwards we shared nachos and modelo especial,
that was nice.
my body was wrapped in the warm pink blanket
rocking on the wicker chair as you
paced back and forth on the front of the porch and I
couldn’t hear the devil speaking from between your lips because my eyes were softly shut,
my being a blind cloud floating
softly in the nighttime cigarette smoke,
the part of me you were trying to hurt was the insides floated out,
just a cloud watching the clear night sky
and the cupid's arrows and the knives hurling
back and forth back and forth blew right through me,
because I was somewhere else.
but babe you are so sharp!
so I came back together to run inside and grab my pocket knife,
I sat down on the steps by the side of the porch where you couldn’t see me but you could
and sliced a dramatic **** on my right thigh
13 cm length 5 mm width
the blood flowed fantastically, unexpectedly fast dark and shocking, trickling down my leg
just like when you come inside me and I stand up.
I did it for the devil, and so you’d pause the devilry and take care of me
which you know how I like and which you did,
taking the blade from my hand putting an arm around me
examining and cleaning the wound
the blood staining your jeans
pooling wasted on the concrete.
later in the night I chucked the knife into the grass far away
where it remained neglected till the morning
when I came to collect it.
you fall asleep so fast in my bed baby, even when
the night’s been so bad, even when the
moon’s out full and the clouds blown all away
the devil floating softly ubiquitous.
you start to sweat softly and small twitches play across you
from the nightmares playing ubiquitous in your conscious unconscious
I watch you sleep and watch the sweat collect in droplets on your skin
thinking you look like a wet angel hoping you’ll never wake up
I wonder, do abusers learn from their abusers how to hurt?
the way you love baby the way you love it feels
a lot like hurt

People act as though Evil is tangible truth
And it infuriates me
           As if they know the Devil’s face like
I do,
Intimately,
Know the meaning behind the fingers
twisting your doorknob
scaling up the side of your pajama pants

hiding behind a mask of silence and night.

People act as though hurt
        Is something that can be jailed
Despite their lack of knowledge
about the physics of
locks and keys.

The worst insult I can think of
                  being called bad art
      being burnt up to ash in the

fires.

If I was a provider of the content I like
Like I wanted to be I’d never have gotten that
Surgery that ****** up my mammary glands
      I’d gush a milky **** for all audiences
    Even the ones that knew me before I turned bad *****
And spoilt
Even my great aunt and grandma and mom
who have finally befriended me
on Facebook
The ***** in me covers up and cuts off these
Lady parts
But I heat up and cant hide
The spark in my eyes when I see a girl
Unafraid of her ******
Wearing lingerie on IG

Feminism to me is radical or bust
Is ******* your ****** ****** and
Taking lots of pictures as proof
Of your own ****** occurrence,
Reposting if I get taken down,
Moderator of my own **** self.

He cut trees down in his mind
Working when he wasn't working
Dovetail chisels careening down
Highways of cherry and side streets of birch
I could see sawhorses in his eyes rocking madly like
Crazed wooden clockworks,
Wood Chips flying everywhere,
Collecting in small mountains in his peripherals.

I hated it.
The way the each lobe of his brain
Was now a delicately carved
And well-oiled work of wood.
In bed each night I tensed
As he tossed and turned,
Finally getting up to sand off the corner of a desk
Or hack off our daughter’s arm
And sand it away to a soft lump,
Leaving the severed appendage
On the shelf like a trophy

I married an artist, but then he was a painter
And I loved how he smelt of acrylic
And how his brushes moved endlessly
Despite the piles of works no one wanted to buy.

Now I was living in the mad palace of an architect
And a sculptor, his works growing in size
Consuming his live,
And mine,
Which I never signed up for.
Canvasses were one thing but
Enormous trunks of hundred-year-old maples
Were another contract entirely,
Marriage vows I didn't agree to
Registrations left unsigned.

And now I too toss in the night, making my decision
Hesitating like he must have with his axe raised
Above the arm of the sculpture of our daughter
But he followed through which I admired
So though still I loved him in a way still I rose in the night and drove
Hundreds of miles, the highway dark and gleaming
Like the stretches of mahogany inside of him I knew were endless.
In the morning I called him but he didn't pick up
Must’ve been working
As always carving,
Carving.

I had a dream and
You were chasing me,
I was scared.
I locked the door and
Hid in the closet
You drove the car into the house.
I snuck downstairs while
You rampaged around
Breaking down doors and smashing glass
Looking for me.
I ran down the back stairs when
You were walking up the front
I unlocked the back door and ran
Into the woods behind the house.
I heard you screaming
Mindless with rage calling me
***** calling me ****
I hid behind trees in the dark
There was no one there to save me
And I was scared.
In the end you found me,
And I don't remember
What happened after that.
I woke up sweating and
Climbed in bed with Mommy
You were somewhere else
And I had already forgiven you.
In lots of ways you will always be angry,
Especially in my dreams
Where you chase and I run.
In lots of ways the past is
Always present,
And the time that has passed
Means nothing.
But you are not so angry anymore,
And when you were angry I loved you still
Even though I was scared.

The Night Sky

Taking a walk and it’s late, dark out,
sky full of clouds.
Family in beds, sleeping.
Watching rows upon rows of feral shadow clouds roll
across the sky in heavy sheets.
Air is charged, crackling from the energy
of my body as I walk by naked.
I have stolen the stars tonight.
Walking slowly, no thoughts,
my feet among the trees
trees blades of grass my immense form looking down
At mountains the size of mole hills
aerial, seeing as the raptor must.
Granted immense powers such as hyperfocus and
watching buck leap elegantly miles below.
Body is now composed of innumerable celestial bodies
Time is become me,
Form curving elegantly
fabric of spacetime billowing
in the crystalline winter wind.
As I walk I am everything and nothing.
The universe breathes throughout me
stellar nebulas exhale clouds of interstellar gas and dust
across my chest up my arms and neck red giants and
supergiants my legs erupting supernova, black holes
behind my knees across my face trillions of asteroids and
meteoroids sailing coming together in fantastic collisions
all this and looking up the night sky,
Devoid,
clouds moving quick under nothing absolute nothing.

You want masterpieces
but I need time.
My thoughts are formless luminescent snakes
a flickering halo
tiny fluid flakes
I’ve no control of.
It’s not in me to create a
masterpiece
right now
I’m 16.
Did Shakespeare show
potential at 16? Did he win
   a golden
    key?
Then why me?

Teach me the secrets  
of time and the universe.
Whisper them sweetly as you ******.

I’ve nothing to say.

For years I will think of nothing
     and then one day maybe something and
that will feel like a cold shower

Who’s the Brontë sister everyone forgets?

      Does everything matter or nothing? Is it a crime to put my pen on paper without a meaningful idea does anything mean nothing or everything?
    Am I simply killing trees pontificating
         needlessly?
              Do my inky ponderings amount to wankings?
What does it take in this modern age of information
to do something great
with a piece of pen and paper?
      I am wasting my day each day doing what you tell me from the minute I wake up at five fifteen to the moment I walk back through my door twelve hours later
my day is
   structured
around a list of concepts chosen for me by whom.
   Of what do I write of what I know if I know
not and nothing
I know
Wordplay my wankings amount to
   hours
I need to
work
        on writing and
wanking.
      My vocabulary is **** because I’ve no time
      for classics and all I do is watch Netflix.

Some people say to me often sometimes
“I wish I was black.”
and sometimes maybe what I want to say is
“*******.”
but what almost always I say is “Me too.”
The mother who birthed me can be labeled only white
my father spent his childhood playing on islands
and together they made something
       truly
neither this     nor that
and it
always sometimes
drives me mad.

Your face is a map that leads home to me.
Mother may I
         lay down
to sleep?

Pumpkin carvings in a row
I’ve nothing to say
for there’s nothing I know.

When I was young we ran together
faster than me but never
the less good fun
together
we
always together
and I would say this is forever you and me a team as
girl and dog should be
in rain sun moon and stars alike
together were we through hills and hikes
tired and hungry and happy
together
I remember the tears that
arrived at
the mere thought of
alone
I remember the knowing and
the waiting
but we were together you and me as
girl and dog should be
kept alive out of dumb love
flew from us at the first a
hand stroked multicolored fluff
and a long tongue lapped a cheek
eyes glassy and nose wet
at the thought of
together
a happy thought alone
but reality took
you away from me
and death did not come for me as it
should because hell
I was never really meant to be here in the first place
kept alive in the free flying years by
a bark and bated breath
the only thing in this world I
could never dream to live without
heart wrenchingly alone with nothing
as this nightmare passes in the
years and hours
no love anymore and nobody
I miss you
and there’s nobody who’d see as we
what girl and dog should be.

the time in between when
  she leaves and when
  she comes
              usually like a cold
  wind on my nose passes
  before I notice it came
        half my heart and mind
    leave for a while shortly
      after the sun rises and
             before it begins to recede
she will return.
              Barely enough room in our
         room for a bed and a table
           but nevermind
                         in a hot heap on the the soft quilt
           I am running in endless yellow flowered
                prairies with unfettered sunlight
                    on my back chasing rabbits
                and gnawing on grasses shaking off dew
                            sometimes I awake long enough
                 to realize the sunlight is
                             really falling from behind
                 the pane of a small window shining down
                  in a patch upon me.
                                            still just as warm,
                                      later I awake to see the sun
has gone completely and I become
           worried,
     anxious, spreading like
  wildfire or dark clouds in the sky.
  I feel a storm is coming
            in my bones
    and start to shake
  a sound escapes me in a
         whistle of pain.

    It’s late and it’s storming I don’t like storms
  so she’d never leave me alone
         whines turn into howls because
  something is up
            howls pass like this
            worried    worry
   alone with shaking pains and the
        lightning starts oh no oh no
   the world is breaking to pieces
    or some such catastrophe much
                  too much for me and I
                     retreat into a corner,
                                small
    what if she’s gone
              forever?
                  what will become of this
     room and our happy?
    my ears perk up as footsteps pad the hallway
  and a key enters the lock.
             immediately I rise and try
   to contain the happiness
  overflowing from every little fur,
              my tail is wagging me to
                     death I swear
               my heart beating out
                         of existence. The door
            opens and she’s in
                    her smell surrounds me
                      wafts of comfort and
                  together she’s back back
                                back
                 and I notice she’s howling,
                wet flowing from her
                nose and eyes,
                         sounds of pain.

                what’s wrong? we’re home,
                      together, nothing’s wrong.
                    she collapses at the door,
Pushing
           her back to softly close the latch.

                      I turn in three circles
                     rest my head in her lap
                                and wait.

Yesterday we tried sleep
in a heap together
but sleep would not come.

The sakura tree
is dead you tailpipe fiend
you coal mine scoundrel.



.

Her hairs are fragrant
flowers but I’m allergic.
Blow my nose on my
injured heart, red eyes water,
medicine is leaving her.

Finality.
Finnish girls in micro minis
dance
prance kind of
jiggle across the
stage
sweet sixteen Swedes
rub their ***** in their
hypothetical fathers
faces
chicks freshly hatched
still slimy and warm
from the womb
wrap their
maternal gifts
and parts
on poles hiding behind
what small articles
are left on
their pale pink
bodies.

Downing my
scotch,
waving over a fresh
one.
Finally
alone
in a room filled familiarly
with sadness and sweat
men’s pupils enlarge
in the smoke screened
darkness.
I hide
behind the dignity
I don’t have left
over
a feeling spreads
through each cell
membrane to sedate
and mirror
the faces of girls
on stage
who have resigned.
Similarly,
I fired
myself from this
position. “Sorry,”
I mutter into the spaces
in between the
scotch and the rocks,

“It’s just not working out.”
Mentally, I empty
what remains inside into a
small cardboard box
wrap
my arms around
my drunken insides
and stand
shameful like
a guilty dog.

My back is turning
to mirror girls’
stony eyed solitude,
Tiny Finnish dancers
finish up their act
as I, reaching the door,
walk out.

Once, I told darkness
You really are such a ****.
I heard no reply

From then on she grew
consuming regret growing
many supple limbs

ashen with floppy fingers
circling me I used to scream
maybe it will cease to sting

sometime in our future:
now darkness crawls out
hungering for more

I have nothing left to take
all around the insides trash piles stack
our cavern stinks

reeling as she’s ravaging
and growing too thin, my friend the darkness
took her last breath
as I watch cackling eyes aflame.

Fill a box with nothing and climb
inside to drown. Be silent.

I.
Felt upon finding
that you were the other
half to my mind. You locked
me up; ordered the lobotomy.

II.
You left me
less than nothing.
Deep within you,
solar flares.
III.
All we wanted was
the sunrise together. Living
in Alaska; the winter
and the summer.
IV.
Lost the dog last night.
The sun breaks upon my
return; to find him barking
in our basement.
V.
Once mentioned you
prefer a woman tan.
Years later; finding a
burst mole on my thigh.

VI.
Raising our children
as some raise crops.
They fall they get back up,
bury the youngest.

VII.
Devote your life to
hundreds of gathered
miles. No longer walking
claims all freedom.

To be engulfed by her
in soundless sound
she swallows my all of me
to the point where I stopped
handing out my ***** to strangers
bite me
bite bite bite by bite
so far I am a nothing
in a pile of them
fighting for flecks
the masters sprinkle
so many flakes
too many to little
is it too late?
my thoughts and the
space between them
and the page
draw and
tell the truth
while you are
at it
or don’t bother
eat plenty
of fresh
hearts and minds
when open you can heal
open like newborn flesh
to the blade
mr murukami is
bloodshed an improvement
I think I can
build a good future
don’t control her
pain will follow
I die tonight as
we sleep together
only in a matter of speaking
miles apart
nothing holding us together at all
maybe in soon time the
world will grant me a love
if I keep looking
like ginsberg
If I tell the truth
and keep looking
eternity will unfold
again
a mouth places wet
kisses on each
skin cell now
wet and pink *****
lips ******
nervous lips
picked raw by a thousand
hundred trillion
searching fingers on one
hand
a mass of them
tickling my brain and
flesh meager flesh
young and lonesome
sometime soon I
grasped the secret
to the universe
but my mouth was young
and starving so I ate it
for breakfast now
skin so dark
sun so hot
nothing for lunch
or dinner
what does she want from
me what does she need
the time I stroked her
head as she clutched
me crying beneath the
lunch table
sobbing into me warm
I thought of nothing
she makes me feel stupid
so I let the lips in
my bedroom’s orifices
in they seep empty on
the inside save
saliva and a
trillion thousand
swirling tongues
and stale air
licking me dry
licking me *****
licking licking
glossy and loosey goosey
when the time
comes I unlock
my mind and turn
the outside
inside
to dry and dry lonely wanton
I die tonight an ***
comb  back
through and
read this that was
to me, hello. pitty the
the poor disillusioned soul
who forgets to forget me.
pretty girls
don’t tell
them they
are beautiful
such a waste
to let them
know.

Stale smoke floats molten,
in particle clouds haloed
around a sleepy skull.
Touch moonskin every time
you lift a hand to flush rivers
of air through your hair.
I am the air so I know
infinitesimal and everywhere
can’t escape me so I know
who your tears are for.
Your mother never left you.
Though her warmth is gone
and your flesh may not again meet
remember she always said
you are what you eat.
Well, you buried your mother
under grass and then ate salad,
threw her to ferocious flames
filled a fist she so graciously gave to you
with ashes and flung her to the winds.
Breathe in deeply.
Now in your lungs
her dust sticks to join
tar where I steep
waiting anxious to reclaim you.
**** another death stick, inhale
me in lungfuls during lunch
breaks. Though you’ve wronged me
and surely will again,
I’ll lend you air
to smoke a *** now and then
and welcome you, with dusted
open eyes, when time comes
to take you home.

I’d like to think
That someday I’ll
become a person who
never eats what
isn’t truly delicious
and then I like to hope
it’ll never happen.
Chasms and trenches
are dubbed
such when the depth
is unknown and
this is how the
rift inside me extends,
forever downward
like a true line.
I know not what lies on either side
or how far apart the walls
are spread. What troubles
me the most is this lack of knowledge
in particular:
which will I prefer,
the lack of knowledge
or the irreversible
impregnation of my mind
by a higher resolution
picture of myself?

God give her to me
and we could live alone
I could make her happy I
think I could make her
healthy and strong. I would
be too. Focusing on breathing
alone in our house in the
lonely woods in some far
away bustling city
not idealistic or self indulgent
but plausible. hiding away
forever with plenty of
water and fresh fruit washing
her back. I could do it,
play the man. strong,
I am not muscled but
capable of holding this
girl up sewing her up at
the seams keeping her up
each morning to witness
the sun rise over the
mountains treetops bird
nests haloed by sky
scrapers. learning and
loving and making a life
together far away from
home, we needn’t any
plot development save
love love love and
more of it smiles
in the naked darkness
love and *******
keeping each other clean.
I know I could because I know
I cant darling, but I want to.
She doesn’t want me
but she doesn’t
want to be without me
allow it, except that
fate commands
my arms around you like
the noose you so desire.
I will recreate the rumblings of
womb and coffin tonight
child. All I ask of
you is to say hello
to the sun
again again again
get up from that fall
a hundred times
again a hundred more
maybe a million
for me.
I will fill your belly brimming
and your heart will overflow,
as mother and as lover
can I will.

I. Blood
Red is color that appears without its name
uninvited like spectators from beyond the field.
To make you hurt was never not my intent.
Now even dripping,
you must pay to see the ball game.
II. Hound
In a lot obscured by mountains
we played because no eyes watched
you were snatched away
into sprawling dirtied concrete
and no eyes watched.
III. ******
In an alley obscured by lamp’s lack
a man strapped for cash
unstrapped a knife from where it belted
and took as he pleased
more than he ought to have
and the night said, “Nothing.”.
IV. Song
The no noise of your
feet against marble chills me
The no song of your warbling voice
fills me as I near death
What music will hide away
your silence?

I am sage burned at a religious ceremony. I am
offering myself up to you. I am the bird by your
window in the morning, the sputtering moth on
the wall at night. I am nothing more than a young
girl of seventeen. I am nothing anymore but what
I want truly to be. I am the greatest and only love
of yours. I am dying every day growing more and
more corroded. I am growing more each day. I am
relying on you to water me, to prune my leaves and
mind your step. I am bleeding below but you finger
me, deeply anyway, reaching down inside, digging a
hole to plant your seeds, watering daily. I am hoping
to move to Japan and teach English, but now I am
thinking of you so much of the time. I am growing
anxious each day, feeling guilty for my insecurities.
I am thinking I am ugly and useless and unlovable.
I am loathing the self who thinks it. I am glad you
disagree. I am planning on keeping these emotions
inside, burying them deep beneath dirt layers until
they are detritus. I am using all of the nutrients for
this task we’ve undertaken. I am sage covering the
mountains. I am bird weaving the trees. I am rich
soil, deep inside the earth.

He has legs that are taking him places
                                                          watch him go.
When you run things wobble and go
slow so you
                   barely go anywhere at all.
                   In a neighborhood unfamiliar
in a drought:
                  if you rolled on that grass it’d be
the same as a camel ride,
               Where ya headed? They say as he
       runs by already long gone
                                   and where ya headed?
       They say not standing outside the lawn
       not watering their grass
                                           dead
      with hose not empty.
                                       You say
I’m far from home,
                               this place is different.

Under the evergreens I take your hand.
Clutching you I discover a similarity.
Your nails are brittle and stained edges of the pinecones.
Beneath the fingertips crammed dirt and sand.
Who knows what else lies under there, I don’t want to.
Rubbing you the wrong way, the nails drag and snap.
The opposite direction feels silky, wooden.
One cone detaches from a limb, falls in our lap.

Hands smelling of old forest’s deaden life.
Smelling of all school chapel outside.
Wonder if Dieu meant for us to smell that way.
Wouldn’t he have put it in the good book?
Dirt and what else flies through us in each new breath.
I feel the evergreen within me calling out.
What is He saying to you with that aroma?
Perfume ourselves in eau de pomme de pin.

Woven together our palms become a pine cone.
Notice tessellations of body parts and cones.
Where I stop, you begin, overlapping, lapping.
Blossoming and wrapping till we reach a point.
Forever is hardly a romantic concept.
However, the trees manage to keep green each winter.
Falling all around us, hitting the brown needles, cones.

Mine is a river of smooth sienna and yours is unshorn ivory. I’d love to
swim easy on your skin for a while, to feel it on a molecular
level. If I could travel your body, microsize myself and
embark upon a pilgrimage over your organs and
soul, I’d lay in my canoe cruising down
arteries listening to the music
of your systems. I would
bring plenty of books
to read and water
without
ice.