Grinding and it’s good. The “You,” is always shifting, and I know I do best with a muse, but am trying not to.  

There’s only five people I should be texting often: Annie, Victor, Father, Peyton and Ida and Julius if he isn’t made at me. I got diagnosed with autonomic nervous system dysfunction whatever the fuck that means. I feel tethered in all directions, and I remeber when things were so undifficult for about a month and a half and I knew it was the last months of childhood. I had a dream about an old friend last night, in the shade of a tall building. They looked different and beautiful, with long black hair and a smile. I would give a lot to take a plane to You right now, money is not a barrier. It is the dying urge to break a seal, one I don’t want to break at all. 

Here is something I wrote in Prague two years ago: 

I think you're tired so sleep

A lace curtain

and a greyness only god can cure

mulled over-and out by a

baby in wide leg pants seen shuffling

and holding the hand of an older woman

more like gripping

The heart is stiff here,

caught on itself

There is an eary silence,

o n e a citỳ; shouldn't have

It's covered in snow, when

there isn't any at all.

Let yourself rest I say.

But I want to find happiness!

Barred and hopeful

T h e r e is s t e a m from a pot

a n d s o me times I forget where you are from, and where I am from too. 

Until we climb to the top with the one eyed statue and

look like a stiff German couple on one

mistake of a honey moon.

and everything looks so small.

and I see in your eyes, hinged

like mine but softer

a longing held there

..! Relax I say!

But I can't!

Your beautiful I say,

a n d in all of its silence

the city bows its head politely

a n d walks on