sad, no need for my attentions,
but, I guess that's only fair
rest your eyes, half of everyone
March, rear-ended another
Those born, understand:
first-time-and-uneventful
a cleaning out life
moving to warmer climates
bailing on this body
a project of skill-less and dead-author labor turned dead-text turned dead-reader, love affair with space, some cloud to influx information without regard for human eyes. &poetry