Sick to death of taking breaths; too scared to not know what comes next. Keep the joy inside yr chest. Looking thru the bottom of the glass the room appears convex and, in reflected lights, bedecked, and you look stressed. So abhorred yet so assured that each thought’s a thought been thought before. There’s no pressure to be new anymore. And she said, “take me to the roof, babe,” but then she spun around and leaned against the door. The fruit has been rung dry; the juice runs through the fissures of the floor. Look at all the brightness and the great warmth in the places where we stayed. I want to watch that beauty wane, cuz this warmth brings complacency that sticks to skin and can’t be washed away, and we become the lesser lights you see. We’re clothed yet so ashamed. When the sun rises on West Lawn, and Wendi Sun rises on Racine, and when the sun rises on Graceland, I know I won’t be received. With my old self drowned to death I’m but a shell with nothing left. The whipped cream cans and silhouettes – tonight we celebrate twenty consecutive years of regrets.