[Response to ONE DAY, AT 4:36PM…]
Sometimes I wish for Steve. A day is a day in the sense that Steve is. Here I would like to speak: / / / Come on.
I think yellow blue a wheat field on a picture of scania. I think a rosary prayer and prayer and prayer in the throat. And surges and swallow and back / barriers can lie before fertilization. Brake pads. Break pads. Everlasting omen of what is [I permit you my fields].
Sometimes a day is just a day. Sometimes a night is a day.
This night belongs to your velvet. I am always a fan of lace. Histories, I mean. I will sew you a world. I will sew you a word. I will sew you a world of words. Mmm / / / / See
where the sky cracks open.
There is a mirror in the sky. When [the] silence ends [the] word begins. Name divine. Age twenty-five in the Bastille on a Thursday. Well
come [to the revolution]. Fluttering in a yellow bush. The color of
sun in summer. Stevian sonatas.