Marine monster stuck in Indian summers. And damns on the line but funny is the photo. It's floating away, going away on the tide. Crystalized wished like kids cried for Christmases.
Do you stop and stare, struck down as shaken, washed. I was constantly panicking, wishing for what's lost. As I'm standing on some card, waiting to cross.
I though that it was us against the world. But now it's me against something so big and abstract that I can't tell what it is. All the while you're out there grinding on some poor girl.
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Cold black virgin spinning above an open ocean. I hear, I feel, I need, I know. Seven sailors swimming shipwrecked seven smudgy mirrors. You gotta let 'em go.
I'm trying to transmute tap water into wine. Out here, somewhere in this Las Cruces motel room. The floor and ceiling vibrate so I can barely stand. "Calm down", says the Sky Man, "you're injured".
Don't look back until you realise you're pointedly not trying to look back. Then reconsider trying for a clearer mind, try for a grace of some kind. Leave your house and walk in the autumn light.