After I read your interview I sit outside and order a run for whiskey and soda water. You fuck me later like the man I hate. Show me pictures of the soft tales of monkeys, your young heart without a window smokes cheap weed. I love the fucking. I wake up with a bruised lip. Your punk rock friend walks in talking about urinary problems. You invite me to a party as I watch the cockroach on the patio typing these letters and a photo under a terrace with no rain. I tell you to fuck me harder. You do. I write a poem about rape.
We laugh because we don’t understand me and I know you like me. You work at a school named Disney. You have a ball pit in this hell of primary colored letters. The you I still think about cannot stop saying beautiful and his eyes mean it. He does everything he can for me. I drink water and talk about things being strange and how to appreciate the mathematical complexity of electronica music. Your friend will not look me in the eyes. He has a flying squirrel as a pet.
I can see the draw of marrying someone you don’t understand the innocence is without language. Bananas fried n honey at a green elephant he keeps trying to help me. With my computer plug, my napkin, my internet. We can’t understand each other. We do. Families cover the railroads. The bubbles between the streets are a man as he pumps a bubble gun between the lines of cats. The server steps on the cockroach.
All the banks are closed the difference in order of importance. The sex is great but he won’t let me masturbate and my family won’t let me go back. She knows she can take care of sex. I am amazed today at how many people want to help me for a fee. In my dream my dad is taken over by a demon. He is a passive guy with a mistress and we have to share a hotel room at one point. I am very angry at him. Have no fear, the live nest has been revived. I write: anonymous fucking is bullshit and I hate being treated like a victim. I opt for coffee wine and writing shit. I am solicited by a South Korean who walks me home and gives me two kisses on the cheek.
I tell you, you don’t want me; to let go. I want a someone to carry me home presently. I am in a band. Who trusts arguments over water? This is after I sleep with the German while his two friends come back to the room and say don’t mind us we can finish. I cancel my therapy appointment and pet the cutest puppy on my way home so thankful to be touched. I have one fan. Arguments over water, blue casian clova. I have breakfast, who is that guy, takin the wrong train. The first step same with music, well it’s finally getting quieter.
One thought on “bubbles”
is your fan painted or printed or woven or overfolded