I got my thrifty nightcap from a thrift store.
My eyes look glossy.
Kind of like they were rolled in a puddle of baby oil in the middle of your soapy bathtub. The soap kind of makes my eyes branch out in red twine.
The twine that kind of looks like a little map, encircling this minature globe.
The kind of globe that always intrigued you as a kid, thinking to yourself, "why is Alaska so huge?"
Kind of huge like this blanket of sleep that is slowly sliding a fog of slowness over my face, wrapping my neck--procrastinating your arteries from proceeding with their daily plans--, through my gelatin-wrapped arms and over my skin-chapped knuckles.
Straight into the kind of letters that never make any sense unless your eyes are closed.
Kind of like they were rolled in a puddle of baby oil in the middle of your soapy bathtub. The soap kind of makes my eyes branch out in red twine.
The twine that kind of looks like a little map, encircling this minature globe.
The kind of globe that always intrigued you as a kid, thinking to yourself, "why is Alaska so huge?"
Kind of huge like this blanket of sleep that is slowly sliding a fog of slowness over my face, wrapping my neck--procrastinating your arteries from proceeding with their daily plans--, through my gelatin-wrapped arms and over my skin-chapped knuckles.
Straight into the kind of letters that never make any sense unless your eyes are closed.
posted by Henry at 10:43 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home