02-01-2022, 02:54 AM
Everything in the poem is an allusion to something. A series of paradigms.
I'm stuck at my neighbor's house. He works during the day. I write poems and then go home. Weather is making up for the previous years' strangeness, and there's been snow snow snow.
I've been sitting here day after day, writing poem after poem. And rewriting them.
When I get bored with myself and my readings, I look at pictures of girls I used to know. It's enchanting how they look better as they get older.
I like to play in the snow, and go on adventures. Cold makes adventure more profound and potent. But I've been sick.
O the women get more beautiful as the world gets older. Sicker, paler, and glory sings undiluted.
I go to my room, and light candles and lanterns, and get under the covers and fart and burp and breathe hard, do whatever I can to stay warm through the night.
I'm stuck at my neighbor's house. He works during the day. I write poems and then go home. Weather is making up for the previous years' strangeness, and there's been snow snow snow.
I've been sitting here day after day, writing poem after poem. And rewriting them.
When I get bored with myself and my readings, I look at pictures of girls I used to know. It's enchanting how they look better as they get older.
I like to play in the snow, and go on adventures. Cold makes adventure more profound and potent. But I've been sick.
O the women get more beautiful as the world gets older. Sicker, paler, and glory sings undiluted.
I go to my room, and light candles and lanterns, and get under the covers and fart and burp and breathe hard, do whatever I can to stay warm through the night.