Hello

Hello and can’t quite and unfathomable and you are the powdered drink trying to unswell my throat if it is unswellable and not now permanently all the more bouncy and I remember the transition you made and each time you made it and I know you weren’t finished, were every part a Brecht masterpiece, and were a continue-grow, a keep-go, and I continue to coddle you, to swaddle and swoddle you, and you’ll never be blanketless around me. Instead I’ll buy every straight to video, every cinema ticket share I can take. And I’ll feed you M & Ms from pick and mix bags, just the red white and blue, then we’re solidly patriotic and no-one assumes it, sees it, waits, because how could they do this again?

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Cheese

I’m going to pick a moment to live and it won’t be expected like a birthday, holiday, landmark like moving, or breaking someone’s stare. A mother’s meal, dad’s advice, hospital break out or work-up purchase. An achievement medal-worthy, wedding or chip-eating-cemetery sitting with Jack, John, Paul.

Instead I pick this long forgotten kiss which both parties remember on technicality: the jukebox mechanism, toilet lock, soaked beer mats. And in hindsight it’s a regraded movie, re-reviewed a decade later by sit-through-movie-goers who toy with their “leave any time clause.” And they’d always rather stay than leave and never know. Conclusivity is better, whatever it sheds. Usually just carrot grated boredom.

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