Letter #2

Emma, October ended with a single feather funneling its way to muddy Earth in front of funny sparrow copycatting. Eventually it would select and circle one, as if to pause and crown the victim of a loss I wasn’t comprehending.

Water with a stolen soul pen left picture mad rhythm pinned, never set a grin and fly health. Consider me a mobile advertisement for that hybrid plan of fabrics I deemed practical, now is you is or is you ain’t compatible?

I’m twice born, once and seven something, once is the resurrection of honorable function, been shoveling a coal as the engine’s doctor long enough to see my silhouette acquire a permanent kink in a posture. Ease back; let a heart thump echo normalcy for 10, let the back burner boiling point descend, I race the derby in the first heat (strike personal) Strike personal space with the most utterly putrid version of grace.

Ok, I lay me down to sleep, creepin’ a slumber under red skies.