or barely dreams, I had this second or this sec
to situate the situation; unsatisfy the truth.
The final decision came down to stuff.
You cannot make things up.
You cannot make.
We hinge and jam vowels into too small spaces: you are the bad husband.
All day versions of us align:
We use characters; we use stuff but the final arbiter is relief,
I’ll say when this is enough; I’ll say when this is ov—
er … I’ll say when I mean it to end.
Sure, be ambiguous because that might work.
Assume a conversation with Bukowski; practice defeatism.
(I always wanted Opium-laced Anais.)
Look, one story indents all of the others.
This one is nearly kaput.