* at least I wrote down the important things, like "literary mathematics" and the thing about flaming hot cheezits.
* but still, I forget. I forget to look so the message lies dormant, like, like one of those carboniferous spores.
* ...but, but the land was dry. the rain will never come.
* not before it's buried too deep, and its shell has begun to mineralize. Only then.
* the rain and the memory can only have come too late.
the rain and the memory can only have come too late.
* worst of all, when, when I forget the key, to the lock, on my voice
like a gorget of trauma, self loathing and shame.
of course if I don't remember the ritual,
in silence I'll wait
...
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