fig.087) 40 takes at an awful novel Alone in the night by the mailbox that I've been sleeping under, I've voted for more walls in the happy desert. Marching down the street where my dog will pee forever peaking into every broken window after window until I get to never I've found this fusty rifle, now I'll blow out the candles eggplant or primrose, nightshade for tardigrades Nestled in my half eaten screenplay, I'm waiting for someone, to come through the armoire and dance dance dance with me, like they mean it Moreover, I'm here in my blanket, painting a hole in the darkness But I can't seem to shake it, this feeling that I'm naked is like a play where I'm lost and not famous In greyness, the days stay away - away away from ever after Once the villains have gone, cause...