you amidst your machines gone



mad and dreamy



a jar of roses



old anemic



from bright to brown



burners on to keep the plants warm



to keep the air good



to atmospherically calm you down



cords cross the room to ring half



unwilling to pull you from your place



a voice to shake you from your gaze



refocus you on the hot



growing cold



hello to hang up



hands pale



mouth improved from



glued to movement



you smile a bit before falling back into the room



i watch you like you're art



like you are



leaning like you are



to mean something



you stop traffic



you're the source



i'm the addict



surrounded by all your old instruments and fashion books



three years will keep you angry



angry angry



plenty angry and enthused



right into a state of static



moods quite ecliptic



panicked into



some sort of beautiful median



bleeding comedian



emerging from gun smoke



i am aways wrong when



assigning stories



but oh your



face fits so well



i am always off and



bleeding shoddy theory



the dig is grave



the grave i dig: the dialogue.