05.08.04 - 7:27 p.m.

i'm in a field of black eyed susans all alone
in espadrilles and an old-fashioned apron
and you sneak up behind me with a handful of
chocolates. we're spinning around in sepia
tones until i fall down on crispy grass
and bumblebees that sting me and leave lollipops
in my skin (like ryan's song from years ago).
i'm laughing harder than i can ever remember laughing and
the apron flung over my face is suddenly blankets,
alarm sounding a french newsreport and it's
time to go to work.

good morning
previous next

the project museum

the revolution will be catalogued

this american life

the library of congress

i used to believe







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