wine will lock the door behind my quiet

I will guide my forty-five gills

through the luxury of hot caged sleep

rotting apples and the gamut

my stallions a cheap breakfast for one and all

the rotten smell of wet dry sand wetting and drying day after day in the sun

tv is an effective babysitter

I am a network of neurons though you can't tell me exactly what it is that you feel

all the holiday traffic

to help my own release valve I am my own summer house

the fucks have it

I bloated a ten-gallon

my own sweet Caroline

calming like ink through fabric

a hankering for shoo fly pie

get ready for the onslaught

my own new blue shoe

what stylish garden shears

make certain to leave the state early

the sun lightnings a sandy meadow

there are more than five hundred variations of the traditional dart game

fearing in flocks enough company

seeking sticky-armed man

why have flavors

her friends grew up poor

my sweet tooth insufferable but water should calm me down

bamboozled

chocolate covered cherries

the galloping minds forget to worry

tamed

to be the leisurely version of myself

I have been here at my own throat

tictacs and whitepink grapefruit flesh as offerings

stars land like lust tasting grit

carry a child a plate of hot peppers

alive with patterns themselves like mice

the gardens of stone tiger from siblings

a ballerina stomping machine

the option to be a cracker maven

the hole itself too big to feel