you amidst your machines gone

mad and dreamy

a jar of roses

old anemic

from bright to brown

burners on to keep the plants warm

to keep the air good

to atmospherically calm you down

cords cross the room to ring half

unwilling to pull you from your place

a voice to shake you from your gaze

refocus you on the hot

growing cold

hello to hang up

hands pale

mouth improved from

glued to movement

you smile a bit before falling back into the room

i watch you like you're art

like you are

leaning like you are

to mean something

you stop traffic

you're the source

i'm the addict

surrounded by all your old instruments and fashion books

three years will keep you angry

angry angry

plenty angry and enthused

right into a state of static

moods quite ecliptic

panicked into

some sort of beautiful median

bleeding comedian

emerging from gun smoke

i am aways wrong when

assigning stories

but oh your

face fits so well

i am always off and

bleeding shoddy theory

the dig is grave

the grave i dig: the dialogue.