We are moving toward the stars at light speed. We are floating in space so gracefully and wearing astronaut costumes like fabled mothers weaves.
Who the fuck needs a title when all you have read is the bible. the pain is set here to stay inside these veins that beat blood at a compulsive rate, undermine these affections I have in mind for your love in time and the grandeur of a golden hearse for your cursed husband I wish you to leave for good and all of us thought that you would, with melancholy smiles all the awhile, falling victim to this recklessness, lweaving in and out of consciousness like a fabric woven by grandma’s wrist we are contrived into this weird ecstatic existence with feathers for wings and arms spread wide like achilles, let’s divide and spread across these empty plains until there is no land, no free resources from the land again, and we are overpopulating, and over compensating, but procreating and over copulating in the dark parks of childhood lost art of first kiss all based on experience, I wish, I wish, I wish upon a star coming closer that we could be aware of ultimate closure and then all of us, triumphant would bound together, and weather this harsh weather, whether or not, we have time to knit sweaters, with our grandmothers gone, and the launch of each bomb, we are left with words of ignored wisdom echoing in our heads like a dead beat, beatnik, grand father, real prick, barbeque, bruises stick, influence, the old uniform worn once in a lost battle, you are forced to deal with this forgotten son of sons of suns. of suns. of suns. of sons. we are in a constellation of systems fragmented by your wisdom. your years your experience. I wish to achieve such glorious permanence. past this existence.