quasi_sean

Morningstar Burger w/side of Xanax.
to die December.
Twelve glasses of faucet water--eighteen ice cubes melting on the floor.
Bored kitty.
Sadness around.
The duh duh duh from ceiling.
Idiots and amputees onscreen.
Forty books with dust jackets.
Dust bunnies in parkas.
The Brady Bunch. Eight. Nine, including Alice. I include her. I neglect Cousin Oliver.
Paranoia.
F.B.Eye agents in mirrors w/moustache.

Meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee. For love.

For her.

Here:

there are explosions in her eyes
that punctuate
the last sunrise
.
.
.
.
.

you recall my last letter to you--the ode to everything you are. here it is, December, that last month. the end of all. final cigarette smoked
(while i'm at it--i still address all my final notes to you.)
on the balcony after lovemaking staring at the snowmen that were gazing and
(smile)
surprise.

i'll see every last part of you as more beautiful than anything i could paint w/words.

so here begins the trip--

fucking December.

shiny.

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this is what happens when sean stays sober in the afternoon.