you jumped and you reached down you spilled your hair out,
you become broad and deep. i reached.
when i started putting down the words in strokes really like pencil marks, like paint splashed, like meaty rhetoric. tender clutch, like mister magoo looking for his bespectacled own face in hazy mirrored madness, like tremendous slaughter of baby lambies for veal cutlets for dinner, like my favorite couch, like the bright view outside with white snowy reflecting back at me, like invasion by good guys, like the comets at twilight, like this spring solstice bringing ambition renewal rejoicing.