on the news, it is all suicide bombers, and i am learning to live without sleep or with less sleep. and i read this to myself in the poetry voice, but that's just the way i read it. maybe the words don't fit together at all. and you are thinking. "this shit is jacked." oh, how beautifully articulate you are. how beautifully the sun shines on the coin sitting on the sidewalk. how dear is the sound of the rain. how lovely is putting on a wet bathing suit. how sweet is the hat thrown towards a leaving train. oh how i miss you.

on the news, it is all far away, and i am learning to live far away or further away. and i write this so it will be a pattern, it seems cleaver, but maybe i just think it is cleaver. maybe it is not cleaver at all. and you are deciding. "this writing is shit." oh, how much like me you are. how quickly judgments fall. how softly the day breaks. how silent snow makes the world. how enjoyable is a storm. how sweet is the hat thrown towards a leaving train. oh how i miss you.