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manifest press

slept in her buttons,
woke up somewhere else.
buttons made spots tender
on the breasts, on the arms;
the bed was too soft.

the new thing is here, and lots of things are broken or breaking. that’s ok. it’s sunnier in california, and the water’s warm, the water’s friendly. i don’t know how to write a blog anymore. especially, i think, cause i don’t know what it’s for. am i thinking or dumping? am i telling or showing?

thinking about david byrne right now. when i saw him play at the paramount last year i was stunned by the bell-like quality of his voice. pristine. awe inducing. somebody on facebook was talking about how overrated the talking heads were. fuck you, person.
anyway, i’d want to write a book with david byrne.

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