We have this ever slow hum, of what it is like to talk to us. This sort of weird life of putting our drinks on the edges of tables. We look out constantly over European taste and back home flavors. Until we are just shouting our flavors and experiences.
There is no doubt about me, that I hold it all to my children, close to cuff, but we are in it over and over in dreams with planes crashing from seat eleven and backwards and my sister Laura over and over again coming back.
We are the ones of Abercrombie landscapes taking different trails upon rain.
With our Finneganís and Reillyís / until it doesnít matter the song of where we started and the unborn we let go? I imagine Eric sliding down hills of ice in his Toyota tundra, me passenger, and all that tomorrow.
Until me throwing each and every part of my body out there.
Perhaps a Kim
Perhaps a Finn
Perhaps a Reilly
An Ellen and James a Jim until all the colors look rose.
And slip away from me.
Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god can you feel this, these things without even showing you the pictures and the contest,. Until they all blend.
My mother, calls
My father calls
Perhaps everything about me is everything about me.