so i had this dream where i woke up on a gray beach made of fermented lovers' ribs. the seagulls were tired of love and sank low in the sky, kissing neon palm tree girls and flying away, tears in their eyes as reality died on their feathers. i think i was an angel in my dream, an angel crying pearls on the angry sand, soft hands in a champagne glass of peach juice. the sky sighed, the clouds of his brain mushy and rotting. in my dream there were two suns and seven moons, dangling like stars in the sky, dead peony petals sittin' on your tongue. this is what happens to my brain when the nostalgia sets in, turning golden memories to half devoured dreams and sobbing in a made up paradise under a sad sky. this is how nostalgia swallows you, fast and gently, bending your memories and makin' you chase after them, soul girl like abstract art. i asked you why people would ever believe that the Earth was flat. then i got no answer. you were too busy trying to eat around the pit of a mango (or the pit of the earth) that you had finished way back in july.
i asked for my memories, you planted sad dreams in my brain like crooked picasso paintings
august 16, 2017
