[holocene]

purpose is lucid
pristine in it's oxygen lack. stay pretty in Providence, black-
bled the lace of that blouse. graft echinacea, pollen, and sprout.
i believe that we that we borrowed *the solemn* from churches and druids-
rose-tinted opiates. as fallen as out.
opening opera ensembles, exit & go for my coat
and cope with some coughfuls, bourbon-influenced. gurgling fluids.
the nausea, clandestine, corrosive in nature and
probably scalding as acid drops in your esophagus/throat
as if seeing disease through chameleon goggles. echolerascope
so pro-creation. so miscreant, broke- it pays to be lonely and vacant.
seven seasons seeped in a bottle. and dreamed through a nostril.
relearned every muse, sleeping beauty, as ghostly old sorrow.
if only tomorrow could be here more soon
permanence muted. sirens sound, and i'll be seeing you too