you are warmer than fever in
me that was
the wing-ed beast
of legend in
me for
a moment that soft
every where I felt
it was how light
is so fast and
blind to itself.

Holy shit. My body is made from cheese. I’m cheesy. So much so, in fact, that the Earth’s gravity will let go of me. It’s happening tomorrow. The moon will take me. I’ll stick to it like bird shit on the bench you’re trying to sit on. 

The Moon. The Mothership. A whole giant rock made of Me. I’ll throw the man on the moon a retirement party. He’ll ask what the final straw was that made the Earth eject me. I’ll show him part 1 of this poem and he’ll say that’s not so bad. Watch this. 

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