I have slowly and sadly fallen in love
with this mystery, this hollow self
gently punctured and bled out, gaping.
tuck your fingers into my painted palms, I know
I burn too hot/sandy, but I would clasp you
in this fiery ring. this is our disaster.
I have destroyed you, beautifully.
they were grinning like the rain, each footfall
hits in the crowd with a subtle two-step beat
a bit of a drag on the right, but the white noise hides it.
Everything a perfectly panned shot, narrated
quietly to myself.
In a jacket, which I have been told
is very Wes Anderson. I have just enough yellow to be indie.
Every day is a planned script.
Every day is a short film I will never shoot
for anyone but myself and God
some serious jua kali 