you amidst your machines gone
mad and dreamy
a jar of roses
old anemic
from bright to brown
burners on to keep the plants warm
to keep the air good
to atmospherically calm you down
cords cross the room to ring half
unwilling to pull you from your place
a voice to shake you from your gaze
refocus you on the hot
growing cold
hello to hang up
hands pale
mouth improved from
glued to movement
you smile a bit before falling back into the room
i watch you like you're art
like you are
leaning like you are
to mean something
you stop traffic
you're the source
i'm the addict
surrounded by all your old instruments and fashion books
three years will keep you angry
angry angry
plenty angry and enthused
right into a state of static
moods quite ecliptic
panicked into
some sort of beautiful median
bleeding comedian
emerging from gun smoke
i am aways wrong when
assigning stories
but oh your
face fits so well
i am always off and
bleeding shoddy theory
the dig is grave
the grave i dig: the dialogue.