Sunday 31 May 2009

Like Hamburgers for Breakfast



Stupid Poets. I had a dream about you. And I ran sink water through my hair. With lubricated fingers from this morning. We are frozen in the kitchen of a Fast Food restaurant. I woke up from the dream and realized the pillow was burned with memory.
I grab a novel with bold print and sense the sunshine in my spine. Candy.
Stupid city. I love you, I guess.

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