Yes there are fences that still hurt like they used to. Why do you think I'm blurting these words for my journey? For the sake of St. Nicholas I'm waxing ridiculous. I didn't quite sin for this twinge of loneliness that pops with its finger this pink bubble I'm chewing and the juices drip out of my black and white film leaving only a shadow of color and light like the scent and the clatter of burning pages at night
You kissed my knee and climbed up to see the depth of this valley when the blanket of clouds snores on down the river. A 6-pack of whispers unpacked could smash me back in return for that jab.
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