sitting in poetry class and all i want to do is write prose that makes people's minds overflow like a river after rainfall, spilling up and over in the most unnatural way, for is it ever natural? to string together words like they are beads to drape the whole world in diamonds and pearls, wrapping around wrists and necks, glittering and deadly, and too beautiful to understand? because i want to write words like faulkner, creating endless dreamy rabbit holes for endless dreamy young girls following tardy forest animals and perfect words that could have never nor will ever again be able to fit together in such a way that one can only sigh in admiration, like a lovesick schoolboy too shy to pinch and pull like his peers, so lost in admiration that he loses himself, forgets all cares, disregarding scolding and teasing, for everything we do is soaked in care and saturated in blood from our ever-beating hearts
