Maybe the Angels have three wings.


A: Heady when, did the gang bend for neat four. Bravely taken. There isn’t is a was have as said. Signed as kindly but without will.

B: They are Trembling and semi-transparent with puckered yellow lips. Hugging what was uncovered and standing out of ground. I was flat-faced and sharing, curled up beneath a tree while climbing it.

A: You're wiggled! But for once I have some idea. Don’t you notice me glaring at you?

B: That’s crap!

A: That’s crap!

B: That’s what a crap! What a crap!

A: You crap. You puckered yellow lips and semi-transparent lips and chin. You stellated rectangle, you measurable mystery. I never really let the extension sound out on a warmth. There are nearly myself and yourself and myself and yourself and.

B: Not a single thing in the world. Hol mal. Who am I? Who are you? Who am I? Who am I? Question: who am I? Not a single thing in the world. Itchy what about what about how are you but no no no no no one thing that I thought was that there’s a light on the top of the tree it’s yellow and green and a little white things sticking out of the ground it looks like a plant but I think it’s a pie.

B: Probably probability probably. Why don’t we string things together and dance on it? Every time I move this light turns on and it makes me a little nervous… it makes me think that I’m being noticed? Por qué no vivo en una casa de vidrio como un pobre jitomate pobre? ¿Por qué no nos vamos al sol donde nacimos? Por qué no puedo ubicar el origen de la galaxia? Porque no somos nosotras. My hand clinches and shakes and my nose turns blue. My spine curls into and over itself like a rolled up yoga mat.

A: Die Wasserturbine, in der ich geboren wurde. The squeal of the wheels they haunt me.

B: My memory is a dust pan for my dusty old soul. Maybe my grandmother died from a B12 deficiency. Maybe it was from when I played D12 in her Mercedes Benz. Maybe it was the 12 apostles that judged her. Maybe the seven dwarfs protect her. Maybe the four points of a concave rectangle are slicing my throat in heaven. Maybe the Angels have three wings.

A: The shadow of your elbow in the curtain of your window is a sign that everything will not be OK.

What's on your mind?
Roses are