black sheep boy translation

I bite the cellophane off a new cd with your sleeping teeth. my fingernails are busy with non-belief, lacking precedent, or consequence. shall ensue. as if rain without clouds. it’s not a care. it’s not seen a mirror since your bathroom, since the sounds went swimming out the side window, a liberty flight from your throat. quiet, but it cracked out my head. added music, a confident reader, a chase down your arm to the hand on the back of my neck, liked the floor better than the bed. it was a band we refused to tell anyone else about, another radio song, the vocal organs of men and animals gone past a small town on a river in missouri. the name forgotten in the death of things we were tired of saying, piece of grassy land, field thoughts, a steadfast withdrawal in leaps and bounds, friar lawrence, benvolio, mercurtio. the sea in the water. shakes in the mooder. cliff notes. home in your stereo. the last song on the cd that you burned on into conflagration as you made your way off the top of the tall building. you do accidents toward my passage. yes, common wood has common defects. I know this because I’m a professional who eats once a day like the intermissions during epics. a foretaste of a leg brush. vapor. without articles comes flutter. matter in the milk-house, cast metals and graves both are founded. early tools and maps with the names of countries that no longer exist. one of them spread across the floor now. latitude inflexion. something said late upon waking in the dark. unborn cedar. this is my quiet argument with the world.