Who was born in the wind, I searched for the last cigarette, it broke obviously. I declined the orange at first because the garden seemed too easy. Where will I know the wilderness again Dante, when I fly south to go west or east to go north. It's the consumption I'm making, a new typicality. Does she exist, or will I find her too late in someone else's imagination? Obviously I know the artists, at least once. Poets and musicians, not in the slightest. A filmmaker? Rolling the light or the illumination into the chaos of photons. How much do they need and want? Forever.
There she is young, looking at the side of my head, as I type. I should get a job, and coffee, and some reason not to go back to bed. What will she teach me and what will I teach the typewriter. It won't be how to repair the typewriter or change the ink. I can get NASA to do that for me.
Welcome to my void, I assure her I'm not famous, or that I know how to celebrate any holiday with excess.
Where will we dine tonight? Somewhere decent, so I don't have to lose again, in another September University. Married to some debate about the time we lose to the ocean.
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