i cannot stand another year of holding my breath.
my face is turning bluish gray.
not hot.

my posse is leaving town.
[sadness.]

boo yeah elliot smith

what weird world wavers
wonders
with whimsy
when
wishful words
went wanting
why would we
will women wandering
walking wayward
writhing wildly
while widow's weep
wasted wilting willows
wearing wisdom's wars
wholly
unholy