September 07, 2015

And I kind of feel crooked

my hands feel small

my nose cold

and I'm waiting for the orbit

the moon to find its place

the water to fill my ears

my collar

for those lights to catch the stones

those planes to collide

to explode

fill me with some other form of

intention

some other way of knowing

I mean, you could say

extonetial

but it's the shapes on the ground

hexadecimal

what does that even mean

disjointed in this perfect

isolation

and my nose is running

sniff

my legs are dangling

breath

the planes are crashing

sleep

just sleep