You said it was a 5 million dollar shadow, the sun through pink plastic.
I am always writing about being eight but when i am with you i don't
have to write anymore, because i am
8.
You broke down non-linear and linear communication, trillionaire day jobs,
not being a thug because you were too queer, and an epic adoption from Catholic Colombia
to Isolated Western Massachusetts, all much before hamburgers. from circle diner.
i really could lick the candy from your haert.
i really could never stop believing in anything
if you were near me. and as we are on the train home,
David Bowie's ghost sits with the business man,
neither truly dead, and i want to say "kiss me, kiss me,
it won't be so bad, i promise." and then as we wait
in line for our food stamps from god you just do it for 7 seconds and its ok and pretty good
