art, a swampland, and socks

“this is a fine swampland of intended lines”

this is art (i think

does it matter what i think supremely

or what we think collectively?

sorry, irrelevant) so this isn’t art. so what?

anyway. these are words I stole

from April 22.

I don’t remember his last name

but he’s in my small notebook now

and your head

and we are commenting on each other’s souls, so

being civil is the least we can do

and we are doing it, so congratulations

no one will drown

in this fine line of swampland

while we stare at skulls and mutter mediocrity

and then laugh, and put on warm socks, and carry on and

that’s all


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