is put to rest.

i threw her, she did not inhale and later i thought what a waste while they become young and undesirable. they own the passage of timed cliches through a course of neighborhoods run self-consciously without the men and women you arrived with because they walked holes in the roof and their feet were not caught alight with your father's slope of the nose, an easel awaits underneath cold water.


p.s. it is a lampshade.