The radio gave me a few thoughts that the rocks agreed upon between basket cases, the ones that we can’t speak and know all about – we aren’t bothered, they’re like the rivers of stories on our palms. Everything’s gone to ****, while you say not to forget all we have, like the scattered hairpins, don’t dare forget your *** in the drawer that haunts my running lows (welcome, ghosts).
This introduction was begged, old, all the little loves turned to stone whether I liked it or not. Just a being, learning the tears from the world’s claws.
“Darling, I’m lost.”

http://suchpoeticthoughts.blogspot.com/2013/10/digging.html