by Brian McCloskey
If you can't show red, why bother filming? Michigan seems like a dream to me now. You are a sandwich. I am an old woman writing poetry. It is utterly unlikely that you will ever run into anyone wearing the same pair of tights. Lay the tights on the sheet of paper and spray on each leg.T is for tits. I think of your quiet grave now and again. I am being followed by a flock of winged words. The sun started to shine so bright that I looked like a maniac wearing tights. This world is too good for us. The dreamer yearning for spring is horizontal. Nothing likes to be abandoned. When you appease my heart, I've nothing left to say. That dark seam in the sky that ripped open. A darkness shining in brightness which brightness could not comprehend. And there is punishment written in the margins. Would make fish of us all. The meek leggings of fog, its crude smallnesses. Anyway who wants two gestures to illustrate a loaf and a jug. Red trousers save lives. Eat the bread of our body's slough. They say a crow will remember a person's face for years. It takes a playful heart and a bold personality to wear purple pantyhose. Deer don't like pantyhose either. Are you sure you want to do this in your ballet clothes? This isn't the love you sent back to the kitchen. I tossed on tights under my dress and declared myself ready to face Monday. People will definitely look at you if you are wearing these tights. Do you think if I were to wear one pair of tights over the other it'd be completely opaque?