Piles of leaves: Letters Campaign

Suddenly old but feeling perfect, my wet underwear is on the the floor. It's gathered round my ankle. Myko laughs, just as wet and full of piss as ever. The violence of our togethering already feels like more than something. I reach out, taking the back of her neck with my hand. She's stepping in as I lean over to write;

Dear, Temperance, October, and Brine,

You are more than a place to me. More than walls and simple chimes, but I'll write to you anyway. This you'll know as you read my words. From here beside the lark's buttered breast, from under the heavy lids and the bright side kettle where we'll hum. We'll hum together, Bunny. Dickens be damned, we're now brightly doomed. Soon enough we'll see, the forest within the trees.

To you,

Tigre

PS.

are more or only this bed, maybe the floor too.

We spend the day in, ordering takeout and hiding under the sheets. I get up and pee while Katt is talking about Milton. Her mouth's open, it's as round as a donut. I'm making the coffee drink while listening. She's talking about shirts and that damn cat.

She talks about the buckets of paint he keeps under the bed. He's a prepper; wants to paint murals after this shits done. Once the calendar breaks, once... He's broke and can't afford to hide behind his neighbors. So, he'll order take out and then paint their dream relief on a garage door.

"When everything's done, we'll go outside. Milton always sits in the grass and smokes, while I read something out loud. I like reading Jung. Jung relaxes me."

"Jung, it's all April to me. Anyway, Milton's an ass, a born weeper and a work hole besides. You could loose him in a couch."

The kids ring our bell then leave sacks of sushi and warm pop outside the door. We've come to be married, she laughs and gently farts. I sit down and sing to her. When it's time to eat, we eat and then we cry until our plates are cleared.

"The waters gone, we'll have to get more in the morning."

"The water's gone. I can go out this time."

"After that, a bath! Oh, and we can talk about boats and the pigeons dancing like livestock. I'll show you me back again," she says suggestively but I'm already slipping away from her.

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The apologist and the appraiser have decided to stay put

dashed wet and grim Oh now, Reagan of steel glitter in pants with which to shake them on down. Oh now, I shit you not for these are the things. Yes in any order you should choose these are the things to please please me, Oh Yeah. - Unmarked letter signed, A to A They'll say to me that it's safe to say so much for ubiquity, for disenfranchisement, and the terrorism of privilege. They'll say to me, With all of the effects from these profoundly toxic effects, is the project of our shared humanity effectively being dismantled. Are these the idle thoughts and sad tidings of despots and the tyrant kings inside of their comfortable towers of raised muck. As I've said before, They're not so far gone as to be gone for the good of all. This is plain to be seen in a world of bent backs and gross hyperbole. I'll sit in any unused doorway. I'll be beside myself while every door is locked. I'll dream of the halls and listen as the curtains, the drinking, an

The Earnest Risks of a Noble Actuary

fig.082) sploosh, this salient and inconsequential arc Don't you know, we're Dancing Dancing through the flames from our beards, Apostrophy, Parenthesis (in that old order); Mrs. Jamwell June, of Sunny Market Place, Deeply Hopless Records It started when the other farm's got a taste for herding some of our stray numbers. At first they poached a few of the prime numbers from the bottom of our board. But then the chalk began disappearing too. Soon enough, people all over this valley were leaving. Finally, there wasn’t any will left to use any of it and the whole thing evaporated. I remember the farm before its small math made it so big. Back then, it couldn’t fail because there were plenty of big numbers floating up to the top. There was never a need for Euler or their damn constant. That is until gamma arrived, suggesting that it was the same thing, only different. That’s when the farm broke. That’s when it started making all of us hungry too. It's the worst tim

Chanting, "swap me, swap me!"

Fig.32) Aging poorly We're just together, taking ourselves for the tidy sum of walk, so our toes will be cool in the Lak. There's a listening experience that feels prepared, "our's for now, ours it says! Here's the hammer and it's wrapped in its own design already. A union in time-space, this card is our greetings, our massive, our very patience is reflected in this resolve." Suddenly, there's a cut away and she's wearing the pants that I've made for her, slow blue like painted smoke . I'm thinking about her hunched over the kitchen table, something that's stuck. There's a carving knife in her hand but from here, it's the same as an old spoon. From here my computer is sitting on my guilty seat, I'm thinking about champagne and comparing it to a thick wad bees and wondering whats in it for me? It's an anxious season, filled with not enough of anything while more of the same is boiling over everywhere. When I was younger

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