Of recent stories, i’m told our moon was the largest.  i denied fact as truth, as is so often used.  i wrote a report filled with errors only a universe could make and killed time for old time’s sake.

but the buried limousines have somehow grown into trees where crows drink wine, and talk of future times where their only worry will be which way to glide to empty their minds.

but talking to the doctor today, he was convinced of impeding biological holocaust - where bodies pile up as your vision is lost - and all along you were the fastest crook, spending money like time, and quicker than you took it.

my vagrancy knows of great discord, the kind my mind mutates into a reward but the last vision of a dead knights sword is the exterior of the universe after all our inner wars.

vapors collide in one last goodbye of both our love and time.  i breathe your lips for one last eclipse and forget all the reasons why.  we’ll meet again, on the run - towards the sun, but not with everyone.



my mind goes blank

   with every breath of mine

that you take