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You walk through the big arch lobby casual like you live there, elevator up to the top floor, walk down the corridor pretend you feel fearless, and slide out window to the fire escape. Go up tonught by step a scary wobbly metal fire ladder. The only idea: sit out on the roof edge and talk tonjght what you see. Look out over the town and try and feel understand something. Drink sweet wine. Drink and gaze, and our eyes help our lives believe.

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Photos of a blind girl.

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Expose the photos. My hips are my father, my eyes my mother. Light hurts me. If nothing more, or less, you are guaranteed to make a good friend. No moon. Her voice before was the size of a beer can, now it speaks out of the whole body under her ratsnest kimono. If so, then we are already off to a B,ack start. I hurled wet negatives like confetti so they fell back dead. He was the promise I will meet him and seduce him.

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Unclad is a sword word. I scattered the erased pictures into the street rainstorm. She says: I have to look at you every day. I lounge back hard against the paper wall. The cloud field straight up heaven!

Crumb blow away. My lips can believe they are touching the wrist of the man who has nothing, nothing.

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An automatic woman asking please for 25 cents. Sophisticated yet easy to tonighg understand. I can do that. The mirror on the foggy window is a ghost bed where something still lives.

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The only idea: sit out on the roof edge and talk about what you see. I want to disappear.

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Music will play, sounding like an expensive jewelled bag ripped open. I love him, he has me. Yes I can destroy anything that belongs to me.

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I look forward to tohight experience. They circle, throwing their own stories into the flames. Here in my hands is my bodying-forth. Oh I wanted to be a thing, and I am a thing.

The girl on the sidewalk, who always seems to ignore you, here is her alternate face looking into you. Pause the miracle of time. But right now work.

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So I give it up. But in my chest I see every piece of candy inside, Eath my eyes taste every flavor. My scrawny body can fill the pit My scrawny face can reverse the flame Human race, with only one tine to your fork, I will feed you. If and when you reply put " I AM chosen" in the subject space. The flavors flip into me like cards shuffling, crackcrackcrack yum. But I can call Victor, I can call Victor.

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Only a pit could have made me. None of that is here.

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But a flame turned backwards is behind every face skin of them. What I must think of the viewer.

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I will beat his ass with a rolled-up Paris-Match. Open the window. Lookit that ugly, vain, little, naked, chick! For your sake I will not laugh at your jokes. He cannot be saved except through his eyes, because his eyes take his life on this journey. She says: nothing. My pajamas tohight to me soaking joy. A timid understanding story to make a whole city of eyes go soft.

Side : A lifestyle is important to me, and the foundation of that is great character integrity, so if you are into optimal that would be Awesome! The good food turning into garbage, I used to hate that—clean paper napkins making into wad-up trash, everything mixing together on everything to where I got to throw it all in gray bins and wipe away the table with a rag—now that all hits me as good.