, , ,

the sun and the paper

together write out a knuckle

sandwich with the ink that your

mother has spilled over the

spanish civil war.  I want to run

away to jamaica and rent a house

on the water.  Maybe I’ll write about

world domination or maybe I’ll


walk on water.  MAYBE I’ll run

with world record speed.  Our

past is the future.  Our spell is

the future.  Our dance is