I’m Still Copying My Favorite Artists

The house you haunt should be the one you love undyingly….

Little beggar looking bedraggled with braided locks… she slept with him because he was different. On Sundays she smelled like lox. He wrote her songs on his keyboard, although he never plugged it in.

I’m a hundred times heavier when I look at you. (said the shrimp)

Put your love on the shelf, wait for me in the swamp, call me Mr. Popcorn Ceiling. I’m so tacky you could hang a hat on me. I’m like a 1970’s living room.

I’m still copying my favorite artists.

Headed to Chinatown. Looking for a side effect. Something strong to knock me down.

Sorry, I had to leave. I was just in it for the free fortune cookies.

Call me birch tree Sparrow King.

Call me later.

Call me Mr. Vincent Van Gone. I’m an oil painting left on the porch. You’re the doorbell frozen in the cold. I’m a bloodrush passenger. Let me off. Home is where you hide your secrets and bury your hurt, little bumblebee.

If we’re going down, you should steer toward the rocks…



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