There you are, like quicksand. Hands standing behind backs and lips immersed in something strange. The words leak out and I am in love and if no one hears nothing else I want you all to know that I am lost but searching.
(more) There are clues and angles, there is an unemployed angel and the words of too many poets. Where do you go from here? What are the words that exist to push you beyond the place of ignorance?
I miss meeting people. I miss being a human, all the life and all the words. Like quicksand things drop and they lose and things slip into something strange. I miss being a live human being. All the things in the future seemed encouraging but strange and sad and weird.
Oh the life. Oh the edge of things that leave and left and age beyond oak and thoughts. Thank you for listening. Thank you for worrying. I miss you most. (less)