If I start writing what will happen?
What will happen if I start writing?
If I start writing what will happen?
Will I come out of the woods with the sun-streaked sand among the cabbages?
To another place and another place.
To the old school with the broken windows and piano keys just past the sun.
To the house with a grand piano behind the chairs, hit by the sun.
Just past the sun, the notes are waiting.
The storage building like a small clock tower, comforting concrete, 2002, one tick.
Bathtub wall tiles, cats parachuting down, marking the calendar. By the fireplace and the CD. Moon sings.
Moon sang. Sun stripes the rails. Quarters dated. Quarters mark the days.
He takes the CD out a period early.
Screen goes normal. No Howl for eighth.

And I came out of the woods to another place.
To the old school with the broken windows, brick and brick and brick and grass and keys beneath the sunlight, it called back to him. Walls are a grainy color. The cat winds back the minute hand. Go tiles spill, clatter by the fire.

Sugar Ray taunts his opponent, and that's fine.
Food in the back.

One day, one day, one day,
he'll stand underneath the still clock circle and get the keys from the desk and open one of the storage lockers.
And it will all make sense.
And it will all make sense and it will all make sense and it will all make sense and it will all make sense and everything will make sense and

あ ほら the current song fits, it never doesn't fit

Because the medieval feast laurels pulse waiting for Togenkyo, tunics, knee straps, holding air up with your hands like that, papers say 3,  2,  1,  TODAY! It doesn't make sense maybe, and that's fine.

Give me fire, sorry but I'm not that sweet


It rains purple smoke, and the catfish are safe

The boss is out, and the catfish are happy

The boss is in, and the catfish are waiting

What I'm trying to say is that
I'd rather

あまり

Years ago, they tried to

Blotch out my vision against the meadowland freights with such a bright sun

Years ago, they tried to

Blotch out my vision so I couldn't see it and I couldn't see it, almond milk underneath the weird orange cubes and what's the base and what's the lettuce base and where are the orange cubes and what I'm trying to say is

Years ago, they try to let me know

She was already gone

Local Man Tries To Say It Clearly, Slowly Unravels Into Insanity Over The Course Of Three Pages!

I'm trying
to say,

I miss her.

The female news anchor's face energetically flashes into an anime cat's, grinning hard, and the backdrop is such a lovely washed green on green, just like the bathtub tiles and I

miss her.

Cat taps its watch. Argyle crater.
Sun glares to an eyelash for Deimos.
Cat lands on the monthly recurring yellow rubber duck, with a squeak all the cute elvish notes dislodge from May in a flurry, the months flash and the months flash.

She sings to the fog. The field looks the same.

He opens his lips to let her voice through.
The water towers look the same and there are four stars above them.

One time, men and dragons lived together peacefully.
One time, she arrived and the station shops were lily lilac darkling lychee glass green.
One time, the wind blew in the church basement and the rainbow woodcut faces flipped over and her signature one time,
Her signature behind the stadium anthems.
Her signature underneath the mural anthem ink.

She sent her holy spinning wheel.

One time, the water rushed hushed down the mall stairs.

I wish I watched all her tears fall.

But I fell.

Escalator, Elevator, elevator, escalator?
Awawa.

And I came up out of the woods to another place. She rang three.

The windows are broken like a breath and the bricks are all there like soft jewels, kissed laws. the keys beat in another place. Cars by the hedges outside. Hedges and vines sing, moon runs away with the wish. She plays and I clap.

He inspects the sphere in the room with white painted doors and white painted doorknobs, spheres on checkered disphenoids. There was no point. Outside the room, her tears fell.