an automatic verse
To the Artist known as H
(after several revisions by sleep)
Yes, I hear you fine / I’ll probably come closer anyhow / Does this feel alright? / It does? / Very good / It’s been like four years, though / You were at that restaurant, and you really fit in / Since you did, I stared, and then I fled / and at the same time she said, “One now” / Yeah, I wish i was in like that / I’ll carry you there (annoying laugh) / That was the time, yep—
“So, how do you like past lives?”
“I’m not sitting inside”
“Why do I need to improve?”
I really enjoy listening to people, well,
I guess it depends on things like volume and timbre
“Who ordered the tostadas?”
“We had to build the best idea”
“I think they just came from a private room”
She laughs ‘neath the blue umbrella…or parasol? Ah, forget it—
Do you remember the first time you scraped your knee? / That electric feeling of danger and dizziness; face flushed, eyebrows arched, sweat only at the ends of your hair (and in the air) /
Oh you don’t? / Well, anyways, the last piece really took me there / I want to thank you somehow / It didn’t get rained on did it? / Sorry, I didn’t get that / There’s no need to get that way / I thought you said you were absent that day? / You felt like lying?
“Don’t trust the mirrors in your home—
They don’t reflect truthfully”
“A missing tooth isn’t that big a deal anyways”