jello in three colours is the oldest form of divination. six months ago: presidential mandate handed down at a mid/night, but I hoped that my superstitions were only so much soft water. a new year, a new shirt, the same as everything the day before. porcelain and a geometric pattern in yellow and cream; a purging of flesh was only the bi/product, and when I visited we spoke of vernaculars. I had wanted to reconcile foggy portions-foxes for meals-set a date at the end of October for such chances. come      out      now. send limbs and long hair over the edge of the pool7, spilling into the purple and green of the northwest hills. not understanding why being passively cruel is so filling.8 flipping through the same magazine for the 32nd time in a row. blood was more metallic in single digits.

7wondered what would happen: few things as harsh on the skin as sands, but the opportunity to thorn a side is delicious. something to question the way we hold conversations without touching emotive relating is the only currency familiar. I am only silent because I am most comfortable with your text(ures) as symbols. when I say nothing it is not because I have nothing to say, but because I don't know what of my encyclopedias to begin with. to spill because I've already ripped, but in the moment nothing I hold for you is appropriate or tidy. nothing I have to give you is timely; places marked on the calendar, and if I held the breath of my body I would never make it. to answer your question: you do not love me more, it is true, but you love me better. making apologies for it doesn't make it any less true.

8punish the fasting with some binging. punish the binging with no purging. punish the no purging with the fasting. punish the fasting with some binging. punish the binging with no purging. punish the no purging with the fasting.