The children are crying right now and people want to talk about time. I thought we could buy local and avoid empire. I'm sick again. We thought we could unplug. Drink ourselves to life.
Writing is mostly where I dream of writing. The uneaten moment in the music of its swallowing.
Touch is an eye that can hurt the light.
We’re sick again. We know the bomb as the least long lord of our pills. There is a shadow in my mother that the angels can’t wait to wrap around a thing gone limp. Angels repeat the future and call it doom, but it’s all afterlife.
God’s never done dying.
kingsoftrain 
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