the weekend blathers and every owl in my who is pleading the 5th
and nothing but the cruel sun is laughing… doubtless, I have no harbor
for my haunted canoe. only a rope and fathoms underneath
my falling or float.
the fully automatic heart is at every point…. pointless.
it must love to signify or else fail
where the center of a thing
is a broken heart.

or You.