Hyacinth and pears. I'm writing, I'm writing - wordless, but you knew that. I miss you and it's dried out my bones. Honey and wine congeal and sour when all I want is blood and water, but I spurned the bread you offered and now I know what thirst is.

will you take me as I am
strung out on another man?
california I'm coming home

bad declarative sentences. I read The Sweet Hereafter last night and cried, not for dead children nor guilt and innocence but for "her father would never be able to smile again and she knew she'd got what she wanted." Secret like a purple birthmark on her face. One could tell the world in excruciating detail and it would still be a secret.