a blind dog in the wildis a dead one1 which isthe first thing to understand but the house where daysare spent with the radiois barely

while I’ve been working to trickmyself into tasting sugarin what I can’t stomach, you’ve been trainingyourself on lights out westthat you can’t quite see. look

on my life I thought I’dnever call someone babyor ever want to, whether sexy admonition or tuckinghair behind ears. it felt likehunger that wasn’t mine.

the train in my mindfinally stops beforeI get off and wend the way through thisgarden of you turningthe fan off in the night. returning to

I want to tell you aboutthe cereal I ate orpigeon footprintsin wet cement, but scarcity warrantsdemand and theseheady grass dayshave been hard to come by.