victual

[theworldishappy]

This is awful, but I have an excuse--I promise.

The moon was so clear tonight

i'm so hung on the idea of expression but nevertheless scared of its incredible discovery like i'm truly stuck in this self-hating tunnel where the walls bend into squares and you know it's not supposed to be please recollect for me the days i've forgotten to count but you don't know me not a thing of this dynamite not a bit of the green fields i see rolling like sapphire planets

if i could think as you do perhaps i'd be a swinging tire rather than an elevator with all the hums of collapsed forlon majesty

and it's not my fault i don't sing of magic like a perfectly set clock

i can't see him or you or anyone inbetween that would speak of poetry as if it were a benign fragment of corrupted bliss

i want to be gone

completely afire wanting you to visit but knowing it would be daylight regret just enough to give away the ticket to anxiety because there's a sun warming the baby grass like a large indifferent mother

just give up on impressing me: i like to see you in the natural light of personal liberty

and if you like laughing at me perhaps i could never exchange your fountain tokens for all the societies that breed like germs and think nothing more than sex-walk-sex i can feel the cramped beauty of europe furnacing on a pore like a ballerina on a manhole

it's not my fault i envision so much green not my business to calculate percentages of romance in every sentimental alliteration never too late or poor to think of your hair-halfed stomach lightly, like i'm seeing a hologram of unadulterated beauty

like literature gone positively mad and aching with density

please follow my fraying rope

i am a skinned government i am waiting for you in the garden where white petals scoff and ruby blood layers interrogate my veracity

i want to turn into a poet overnight want everything to work itself together like a spilt puddle of high fructose corn syrup that meets it neighbor and thinks, "lord. weren't we born to collide."

you healed me like a scientific video sped times thirteen hundred

if i could lay you out in megapixels i'm sure i would find the reason you're constantly trying to transcend and turn your knees away from like a frigid gust of wind reminded you you're in Home Depot and not Neverland

i want bricks that are hundreds of years old i want semicolons that don't give me bruises i want appreciation that seems to nod instead of snicker i want caravans of description to climb a corporate centimeter taller than skepticism

i want love like it was born yesterday and emotional pedophilia was capital

if there's a tax then i owe millions for military self-hatred i want to wake up without looking at the sleep-purple undercurve like it's pinpointing years i've spent in my head but not in my body like i'm honestly wishing that each person i stare at could feel that sarcastic electricity like my preferences were paperdolls like toppled over bargained with sparse depression instead of vehement sparkles

you took me to a dark corner to relinquish a compliment or four

i'm constricted departed like a child in a nineteeth century carriage in the grim spotlight

i don't know how to say don't know how to say much any bit of rotating insecurity that paces like an old person prepared for death to finally cut the see-through gown

i love hearing the resonance in my spinning bones wish i could finally come to a place without a discernable address or purpose and think so freely that the clouds thinned out to transparencies like a birthday party for my battered sense of tender hopes

if i stand i will lean