4-23-03:
Things tend to change from year to year.

And our first date will be in a puddle, and i'll have on my polka-dot dress and you'll be in white shirt and spats (polished). And the rest of the suit, of course.

We'll go dancing and dining to the car stereo and we'll play all of your songs and the water shines wet on my tights but you'll snap-dragon and i'll slip, giddy in the grass.

The dew will shimmer on the dark like shots of vodka. We'll run on the stage and slide slickfast on dew and the mold slithers green on the tips of my shoes. But we laugh

and sit, quiet on bars in the sky on the night with feet dangling down catching on nothing.

You'll look darkly at a point far in front of you like trees floating and breaking and crying at midnight.

and we'll never come down.

There's some pain arcing across my hair.
it could be wet, sliding muddy across the glass

(falling heavy on your back just like the old days when windshields were heavy and thick

(I want the starry nights with grass-in-the-toes dripping calmly and cold on his face like wine from the trees goddamit)

You will not die from such a small cut-
O, go get a bandage and shut the fuck up.

It hits one quite soft like a dream in the night,
The intense, inane feeling that something aint right
With the boxes you thought were stacked up there so tight
So you get up to check, ruby slippers and all
To gaze in surprise at the space where the wall
Was located not less then one minute ago
And as you look around, you see nothing at all
But some rocks, and a tree, and a little brown lake
As you shiver and mumble, your heart starts to ache
And you wish for one moment you’d had walls made of corn-
Anything but of bodies a little too warm.
As it seems they snuck off in the deep of the night
And you have nothing left, and you die from the fright.

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