Fidgety is not something I am,

It is something I hold,

I act as if this timber’s got a mould—

as if I am so unconveniently tame,

as if I get chopped down

and told to behave,

as if my page rages

from the left

of the right,

as if the morning wakes up to tip the night.

on the way to nyc


Summer-what? Summer-time.

Summer-who? Some of my disregarded emotions remark, “it’s been within me the entire time.”


“The magicK.”

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