Saturday grieves

    Puritan seeking more weight

Machines look unhappy in the desert

    “you can’t tell me

he didn’t do it”

    no one there and it’s true

Her hands against the window

Her breath

The empty backs of trucks are screaming

what more do you want from me

I’ll be as clear as I can

My son knows the puddle is an ocean

Our camera killed Her

He fell by himself

Imperfection is everywhere. I wear her star.

Africa is a long scar in my head.

Sad grass.

Lovely mud ocean.

I’m seeing a world, no, a room, or

    a space like a musical phase

princess, sister/s’aint & tribe

    imperfect under funeral flowers

P/ity        Merc(I)(Y)        Peace

             &

           luve

All alone in our boats