House of Buckets

Where we go from here is anybody's guess. I don't know how to make up for all imagined sleights, pastfuturepresent. But I seen a guy in my dreams, with a face like yours, and he smiled her name and she smiled his too and she shared his struggles, and shined right through. It was a hatchet love. He says he don't know what I mean but he know what I mean. Buckees be's so mean to the back end and when are we gonna catch a fuckin break around here? Sometimes we need reminded of the basics, like yessir nossir, and be grateful for the small things, and remember the virtuous value of frugality, and beware the friendly stranger, and to savor every last millibreath of an allerative, literal life-long love. From this (ad)vantage pass and point, I can see the cuts and the breaks are only just; because hold to your arm and waste away the day is where my blushing ambitions lie. Sometimes seems like I'm laying back on bed looking at the world downside up. But I never fail or foresake and just want to be your little godsend, thank whatever that you'll take any and blindly. Because your ligneous parts lick my wounds in ways words won't, not to slander their source. Its just that I'm quite literate and charming and I know a human when I see one. Time to buy monsters on behalf of fairies and so many other pretty things, gone the way of the dododo, like the punchline drumroll, but nobody is laughing and everyone is crying. And I have always operated at my best when things are the worst, not that they couldn't be worser, 'cause they could. That I remember, anyway, but its been a long time since October and I'm counting the blinks til next we cast our gaze to the motherland that isn't really land at all and again we feel mighty

tiny.

Like a slave but with no coercion. Unless you'd like me to be coerced.

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