There's a little boy in the corner of my brain with his nose against the wall.
Four big letters spell out down the front of his cone-shaped hat.
There's a little boy in the corner of my brain with his nose against the wall.
Four big letters spell out down the front of his cone-shaped hat.
Old shadows break in the brand new walls
The dirt projected by the naked winter giants of trees
Stains bare wooden flesh with familiar rusty bandages
Kid sitting at the edge of a dock.
Legs swinging in free fall.
Wood scrapes into his hands.
He thinks that the stars can talk to him.
Midwestern night.
There’s something out in the fields,
Something banging on the roof.
Fresh vomit in the toilet.
The sink is running, so you can’t
Hear your own heavy breathing.
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