winter is
a fine station for all the blueprints
randomly travelling by
and i\'m going long, all the way to st.outfit
blissful in my rectangular skin
feather-like
smiling mostly
i
cross
/i think i know this bird may not die/
the complete collection of why’s and how’s
i do i do possess
mostly to expand my body-heat lullaby
as a sleepy tide through the uncertain
the
people are showing up people are showing up people
this recurrency crosses our dizzy
hazy
lazy
long portrait lines
we\'re here
as for the thunder and lightning
and little rocks little broken
this bus has torn november
into little dreadful pieces
lined-up in a row
to fill
my memory eyes
there\'s only one void corner left
in the station
and there he sits
water drops burning
oh the sea\'s gone out
i raise my hand up the tide
gloomy thy sunsets, thinner my fingertips
as the light flows over to slide
fruity-wide
nevertheless
my lips are sore
and i climb the
so far from the coast
you come to me dearly
grinning about
no more supplies
i\'ve swallowed every goldfish
that came accross me
i\'m riverwide
when i close my eyes
and to every sharp
little girls live inside little rooms
they grow round little gardens
and fences
and skies
come in
there\'s always
some walls and some floor to be caring about
have you got anything new
have i never seen you
show-white and clear
all alone inside
the morning\'s borders
your lovers\' light
runs like cage-water upon
this transparent, and holy
and sudden, and
i\'m gonna marry a man
with silent boots
yes, i\'m gonna marry a man
who lingers into little turns
never cries out his name
downwards from the great
great spiral
surely he\'ll know
