Night is blue. And everywhere I look is blue.
Blue light in us.
Throwing bodies of dead chickens past the deadfall at the property line, turning away without prayer. Various faiths like sea foam, sand, like pretty shells on leather bands. I know better but not always, or it doesn't always help, which matters.
What are you saying? Now what are you saying?
We clean the pantry, make love in the pantry, linger after in the pantry, clean up in the pantry.
Remember that fear is not always inappropriate! Blue crows even.
The miracle always staring you in the face, daring you to remember it.
Idea is primary to matter, which is not an argument but an experience.
Truth, trials, testaments, Taps. Trotsky.
Tell me again you love me, in ways I will recognize, and not forget to carry with me forever.