Wait! I have got my own Fibonacci sequence--I don't answer to Pascal's anything
and I sure as hell do not have the time to quantify using this scientific notation!
Inside of me, laying on rugs that please, please me from somewhere much cooler than
Serbia and more skilled than Kashmir. Man, this feels amazing. I tend a fire in the middle
of the room and I did not have to walk more than a stride for tinder. Or a lighter. And!
It is one of those long BIC ones that my mom gets to lights candles during the winter &
I am too cheap to buy myself. Those lighters. I have these guilded lists, juniper wreaths,
royalty rhyming deep inside me but
you've got to shake me with your tundra grasp, crass; gossip over my seething recklessness
whispers about my percentage of adherence: peeling at the dry corners of my eyes
and skin and on the outsides of my craddling arms that can never quite sustain my sore
sapplings enough.
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