Going West. Won’t be back until June. Take care.

The ideas of this city are but an aftermath and never trust a person who tries to convince you to trade in your old models for new.

There are days, like those when you hair looses the taste of moonshine, that I long to be swallowed hole and rise from volcanic sulphur as Isis. Erect and untouchable, swaying hips like seduction while dancing to the sound of abandoned railways. I long to trap a gaze for what is more than a few hours and pin your yet to be faded positive inclinations to a map of the USA. Yellowstone they say in unpredictable at this time of year and sometimes laughter can’t cure the tremors that hide behind insecure skin.

Longing while receding is a contradiction
(be careful little girl of what you wish for.)
Can’t decide which side your on most days. Odd numbers or even.
Mother says if I am capable of one thing I’m capable of all
Except she keeps asking, “When will you move out, dear?”
First time, since I moved back here.
“I don’t know, Mother. Venus is currently burning too hot
and Saturn is too far and there is really no where else to go”
Besides my window here is to the west and that matters somehow.