just about eye height

the second board from the left of the splintered shelf in the shed
and its just about why i

stand beside the wasps nest in calm sweat like palms melt somewhere in my pockets
but its more about the time by

which i find a trowel on the wall beside the power that ive always needed to decide to recall
because its really when my mind dies

that i find that such denial can be freeing although always seeming fleeting
and thats the moment with my eyes wide

stuck inside the shed

inebriated ambitions caught between drywall with infuriating vision like the fire in a fissure in the trenches of the sea - a treacherous embellishment upon the rolling folds of blankets on rivers italics in bold

comforts of assumptions and reiterated traction within nothing like presumptuous consumption wrapped around, engulfed in told entirely - in all of its entirety, left among a cold untouched impression of forgotten yet perpetually experienced emotion, indignation on the paper like an unexposed proposal to ever stagnat motion

sitting next to me she pointed to the keychain - smiling with a stranger like giggling at recess, how lucky, how lucky
the sky was not there when i went to the courtyard but instead a new set of stairs to a new set of bricks and cold quesadillas
i always thought loitering meant staying the night but i promise to tarry forever, how lucky, how lucky, i shouldt say such things i know, but how hard to resist when i hear someone on the other side on the other pane of glass, oh how lucky, how lucky, i look forward

shes always been interested in dental hygeine. brought together by zero dollars but you cannot put a numeral on kindness

long sleeve silver chain you feel like something different. does it matter will it change i think im going missing. im afraid that whats becoming bitter jaded pessimistic, crawling all that i had fallen the time had finally came

i had to take off my glasses when i tried to convey the depth of it. its not that im nearsighted its just that the lenses are not crystal, if thays clear. transparent like the ice inside a silicone tray, would you decline to drink the sky? stars do softly clinking inside a waterbottle, the flavor of the universe converging in my palms and concentrated night pouring from my eyes - do you understand?