Get selfish for the same reason as my nudity, still getting over the noon. Now I can take you and sit inside the mouth of it all. Still coming twice I leave tardy and cold. Can’t climb out of a funk or just won’t. Either way music happens then it’s done. Now I’m all numerous. I can’t tell which face is fortunate and which is dead. Sometimes you remark on the difference while abstaining from difference. That’s the trick of pregnancy, and growing bodies in a closet: all that sciencey stuff can’t bring a grown man to tears without gas or torn-out teeth. We airmail each other cancer signs but enough is too much. Getting all ripped up or down takes time which we have, but won’t spare.

That’s where you start to blend: tired and without chains in a bedroom of waterstained and unwashed mitigated speechlessness. -Drew Kalbach Read More