stretching out in the high branches, painting the leaves green. altitude nosebleeds and summer forever. static on tv, the garbage can overflowing. bizarre stains on the carpet, thick line of bike grease on your calf. cigarette butts on the window sill, and in the plants. collection of tin cans and broken jewelry. trembling hands all week and other side effects. glass all over the floor, fold your hand around the biggest pieces, squeeze them down. make sand. glossy streams of forever streak your forearms and thighs. the shrieking sound of shards under your sneakers as you lay down on the floor, the glisten of glass in your hair, the smart ringing of it on your exposed flesh. kitchen floor angels.



send my body to new york, slip it in some grimy water.