fig.087) 40 takes on an awful novel Alone in the night by the mailbox that I've been sleeping under, I vote for more walls in the happy desert. Marching down the street where my dog will pee forever peaking into every broken window, I find a rifle to blow out every candle I'm struck and I'm scheming, eggplant or primrose, nightshade for tardigrades Nestled in my half eaten screenplay, I'm waiting for someone, to come through the armoire and 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 their crimes are all done They buy hou...