Afternoon Visitor

mushroom headed mushroom also mario in marioland what’s it called where mario is? mario surrounded by killer flowers rick moranis surrounded by killer flowers little guys and huge flowers a fairy is a small little guy inside a flower a fairy is someone who holds a rose between teeth like a dancer like a deer eating a flower like a flower taller than people like a sunflower like a whole bunch of sunflowers seven feet tall like an abandoned house covered in dust surrounded by sunflowers the kind of house you go to have sex like the kind of house a teenage girl gang runs away to

My head is silent and pink. Elm. Cedar waxwing. Kingbird. I prefer people will strong noses. Hair grazing my chest. I haven’t made a promise, and I’m still. I’m not lonely, and I don’t make rooms neat. There’s a person nearby who’s going on a date. Who’s interested in touching. Who doesn’t trust mystery, prefers plain. Five months have passed, and my boat isn’t tipping over but is stuck on the same muddy waves, and I’m bobbing up and down under a sky that doesn’t speak. How boring. Silver birch tree. If I could live in a place with monkeys and swing and bark and crow and loud with louder and loud. I don’t want to become so kind that I can only be silent. I don’t want dull air. I don’t want to trip anyone.

saw a bridge become an arm, gesturing. I saw a foal fold back inside its mother. I saw the warehouse where they store streets after cars pass through them. I saw an art exhibit of four mirrors—gray paint over glass. We arrive at our reflections as the art. $10 admission fee. I saw a painting full of red, flecked with careful light, Sadak at the mountain-tilt, clung to each bone-flinch, each stone. I saw the white blades through the windowblinds, illuminating the skin in digestive patches.

was something I always wanted. Because something was never working inside of me. Because something is never working inside of me. I’m working now, Sabrina, at the writing like the way that you might be working, but not as well, not as frequent, not with the casual viciousness of your words. was something I always want. Because of my attraction to plants, I’d like to be buried in soil, be buried soft, be buried deep (I want to take a nap again, I always want to take a nap again), with only the minimal awareness of things such that the sun is something I might turn to, slowly. I’m a little bit vampiric. I’m into mouths. I’m into necks. I’m into singing things. I’m heavy with all sorts of muddled horns. Long, hollow, cold. Spittles flying all warm and solid. I’m aching with it. Please let me ache with the warmth. Please ache with the warmth with me. was something I will always want.