what tennessee told

he whispered. of clouds looking like little kittens. of pink elephants stepping in our traces. so they don't get lost. oh this aspiration. this aspiration crumbles in earthy hands. my weary mouth full of rotten raspberries. slugs pulling ahead on the walls. dirty words memorized. lefthanded. minimalistic piano sounds. lullabies. tattered fingers tearing at watch hands. smashed whisper tongue squeaking under the blanket. my amphetamine, babe. we are no one. but they don't let go. we're still dreaming of idem cities. because the stars remain the same.

under byen: "byen driver"