(slap shod)

My brain is a low rent scrape off the wasteland where all the dreams are freezing loving songs of forgiveness and the despair of the lost dogs of summer howling in the dawn and wondering just what it is these fucking sweater smiles are for...

I, for one, am happy.

Pleased as a punch in the face that soon enough i will be shivering. cowering. cozying into my bed with the morning lament 'i hate it when...'.

I'm a fall man.

A patsy of the circadian rhythms who seeks out that sweet chill steady as a heartache when it comes to marking the more noteworthy times in his life.

Still, i'll miss the sun. i'll miss the skin. i'll miss the parachute of coney island...