Ethan Hawke letter 36, 073124
Letter 073124
Dear Ethan Hawke
Pain aches for its desperate star. I crack a tick like an egg on the skull of this dead pup. I’d eat, but light hurts my teeth. My fastball when I had it was described as melancholy on paper. In person, a fat spider losing blood in a cheekbone. No matter. I am going to burn my poems while watching The Phenom. A tank will roll toward my birth and god will take forever to put on clothes. Ethan they are using sound to count bullets. Jesus got three days with his twin.
kingsoftrain 
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