Impressions

As if language is a machine for creating doubt and I broke it without violating it, now the words are beyond infinite. He writes me illegible letters, delirious as bird songs in the ghetto while he shoves his opinions off the grid like a rescue mission for offense. Not sure if I like it but it's better than the classic wow, you have a lot of ideas  I get with din of basketball games and stale beer, pretending, I don't even entertain that shit, but hypothetically, everything I've thought about doing I've done already and there's no ennui from it as the tossing wind stills with a sudden alertness or to ask how about now we blow them away for real. Nature, the great interrogator gatekeeper whatever you say, say you mean like a light skirt when the train comes in, cinematic glimpse of a magical and hip ass that really matters to itself enough to understand the ratio of exposure to disappearance and go on hiding in the heart of a child. The envelopes are always smudged by tears and the casual dirt good men live on and I never open them.