think; like a leaf on a tree thinks; like shadow and light, like shining bark thinks, like the grubs beneath the barkskin think, like lichen on a stone and a bit of dry rot think, like the squawroot thinks, like this misty forest clearing thinks, like the marshes think where the rising of the rainbow is reflected, think like a bit of mud, a bit of raindrop thinks, think like a mirror
so vitally — see on its throne of nothing the sandstorm’s vortex; see how banally enclosed in the least small grain of sand an ingenious fossilised life rests up from the trip; just see how calmly it bears the primal sea’s swarm of beginnings; just see how simple a sign in which like a substance
the truth is reflected; just see how truly, graciously; let things be; add words, but let things be; see how easily they find shelter by themselves behind a stone; see how easily they steal into your ear and whisper to death to go away
M, I am so sorry. I was a perfect douche bag. Horribly executed move, atrocious timing.
I feel like the record holding village idiot of a nation of fools in planet dumbass. No, really, absolutely, I do, and that makes me want to do things to make it up to you.
I probably won't be sending you any of these, because I'm afraid you'll be reminded of me, think it's creepy and burn them; but I can't help the thought of having hurt you and the need to try and make you smile from governing the way my creative impulses flow. I can't help the art that comes out of my system from having atonement undertones and I suppose that makes you a muse.