Tags

, , ,

you have paper flowers

and edison bulbs.  The concrete around

where you’ve woken is damp and the

wood is dried, like its been drifting in

the sea.  written on the pedals made of

paper are histories of a

robot people, steel people, real people.

your mother asks you if

you’ll go to the golf tournament, she wants

you to win, for the future to

be better than the past.    “paint on the

pavement, honey in the

highlife.”

Advertisements