ML PRESS SOON
When I wake you are an alarm. Sometimes you’re outside, around the corner. Sometimes there’s a cop car at the edge of the alley. I do illegal things every day. I cringe when I see them. I see you and cringe but not because you’re beautiful. Sometimes I wake through dreams of children. Sometimes the children are made from bits of scrap metal. Sometimes I can’t help but dream these dreams. I do these illegal things and think THE AMERICAN FLAG BLEEDS BLACK AND WHITE STRINGS. You see, every flag tears in the wind and only context can tell if I am shredded or crying. Only you can tell if I am made of cleaning substances or love.
