the book is being written.

none of the things below are being written.
except maybe the death book will be printed out
and hand stitched by me
and then thrown into the air so it can fall all around me.
[[camera zooms to poignant girlface
and accidental papercuts.]]

the book will be beautiful.
submerged under milk.
i am glad to be writing part of it.
the book will be printed in a limited edition
printed in squid’s ink and mollusk purple
onto gorgeous manna
which you eat
and then take all the words into yourself.

the world, though, has exploded.
but it’s okay.
all is music, and i am a busy bee.
but always there are words.

there are times when i feel flooding love inside me
and i want to pour it over your head
but where are you.