—ALL MY PICTURES SEEM TO FADE TO BLACK AND WHITE

 

thank you

 

in another time, it’s a pierced glade, the sun breaking over santa monica, jagged chartreuse on every forsaken pylon, palm trees hyper-protective and nearly anorexic, so maybe i’ll see you some morning night or on a rare rainy day when the skies don’t know the truth and have diarrhea spewing spewing like an epileptic hydrant, maybe i’ll reincarnate or maybe you will and i’ll find you on campus, a load of books pressed against your chest, looking curled and exotic like a lost stevie nicks, maybe i’ll see you at a coffee shop, window winking so much glare I won’t know it’s your ghost, or maybe i’ll curl a sprig of your hair while your face blooms all the way across the sex-soaked bedsheets, maybe we’ll swoon spoon waste the whole fucking afternoon, or maybe i’ll look up from the lid of an open coffin and whisper, thank you, you have no idea, none.