Francis Merryweather Olive Moon
and she hates her name because it was her great
grandfathers.
He was a greedy 'ole nail biter,and everyone knew it.
Today we were melting ourselves in the garden
we were sipping tea from plastic cups from the dollar market
fingernail markings on the chest. the chest of our cups.
You know that golden hue that enters the hallway and the garden?
Creeping
Dancing
into our energy.
it is just so obvious!
There are bees everywhere,resulting in :you-became a monster with your swats.
I am reading the 'romantic poets' over and over again. Force feeding myself romance,all the time,at all moments. you are what you eat .I am eating Baudelaire and a pinch of Nietzsche for the iron.
falling over my pony tail, you fall over boats.
I am holding my tummy,it is uneasy from rancid applesauce or perhaps last weeks asparagus soup.
You used to make art but you gave up-
every nickname you have ever received you have given yourself :Budapest Hungary. They are all names of overlooked cities.
There are 2000 dead sleepovers that I have passed up over the corse of 19 years.
A lilac box from the ugly part of Paris holds all the invitations that I refused to even read!
The night takes a moment-she capitulates with my nimble mind.
what is this haunting that's been on your brain?
like a sticker that no amount of picking
results in a clean slate.
and she hates her name because it was her great
grandfathers.
He was a greedy 'ole nail biter,and everyone knew it.
Today we were melting ourselves in the garden
we were sipping tea from plastic cups from the dollar market
fingernail markings on the chest. the chest of our cups.
You know that golden hue that enters the hallway and the garden?
Creeping
Dancing
into our energy.
it is just so obvious!
There are bees everywhere,resulting in :you-became a monster with your swats.
I am reading the 'romantic poets' over and over again. Force feeding myself romance,all the time,at all moments. you are what you eat .I am eating Baudelaire and a pinch of Nietzsche for the iron.
falling over my pony tail, you fall over boats.
I am holding my tummy,it is uneasy from rancid applesauce or perhaps last weeks asparagus soup.
You used to make art but you gave up-
every nickname you have ever received you have given yourself :Budapest Hungary. They are all names of overlooked cities.
There are 2000 dead sleepovers that I have passed up over the corse of 19 years.
A lilac box from the ugly part of Paris holds all the invitations that I refused to even read!
The night takes a moment-she capitulates with my nimble mind.
what is this haunting that's been on your brain?
like a sticker that no amount of picking
results in a clean slate.
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