its like sinking
underground
i think you are talking about
dinner
but it sounds like
disaster
inside my eyes.
figure eights make circles in a shadowy red curtain full of placements in time and space.
you confused me. you wanted us to say something, and we didn't. what was your point?
everybody walked away on little bridges in different directions, searching for the sunlight in the desert coming closer to the edge of a canyon. looking over a river flowing around in every direction at once, it was red. sandpaper dresses flapping in the wind. my hair covers my face and it is cold in the bright sun.
its such a juicy picture, jello falling apart in chunks, and we keep trying to keep it in its shape... but it liquefies and we drink hot jello liquid in grandma's house, sitting in the dark in chairs that smell musty on bare wood floors. and in the summer she hugs me tight to her chest, and i remember the yard like allergies cloudy opaque coarse...
