There was an in[dis]cre(a)tion, somewhere. and I can't count where to find it.
Abysmal, infinite, all appropriations were delivered (and can be accredited, I assume)
TELL ME WHY YOU NEVER ANSWERED ME TELL ME WHYYOU NEVER ANSWERED ME TELL ME WHYOU NEVER ANSWERME TELL ME, WHY -- OH, NEVER
There were dreams of snow subdivided, subarctic. In this fascination with contrary living conditions, are there places I can coincide, cohabit, contradict?
I'm familiar with the white fog -- with white crystallization falling from sky to skin, thoughtless to fingertip to credit to cash to canal to caustic addiction and tainting. And still it watches me, escapes my mouth -- laughs, when I've fallen sublime to resignation.
You CANNOT have this.
WHO ARE YOU to say?
Perhaps you are not happy with your own height, (but three inches is a perfectly good height, indeed)
And I've fallen --
three inches down and six inches up.
A girl came to me once more two nights past, and still could not answer my simplest of things.