province of the brave

He throws his heart down like a gauntlet	You will have no doubt and the sky will turn to gold	a dream was faintly clinging to my fingertips. accidentally i brushed my lips, poisoning myself.	I killed myself with clumsy ghosts.
Is it you, Sir, who cut me? Or is it I who cut you?	This terrain is constantly changing, but if you look closely, you can find the patterns	His eyes look out at me from people that I meet	ghost shapes seen only in shadow
It's colder than it looks outside	dream yourself goodbye	February 18, 2019	she doesn't write, doesn't tell you stories, but somehow it's her words that spring to mind at those crucial, terrifying moments, and for that you are eternally grateful
ride the wind, field full of clover	Pylon turn	longish fingernails good for fishing reticent ghosts out of your closet corners	Were you 18 in the Spring of 1997?
How to get anywhere on the Earth in one hour	The sparkle of this angled blossoming was invading the Earth, and Vug said, "It's spring!" I kissed him.	He stretched out his arms but she was not there	Grand Opening
That afternoon in amber, or dipped in gold and left on the mantle	Comin' to carry me home	Stiffness of a spring	steel-toed boots