This rabble is a hive mind and I’m kind, yes I’m so kind, and that’s how we can relate to something special. I lean to the outer limits to feel the grope and grips of some form of kindness, and that’s how I will always remain. Turn your world inside out and vacuum pack the memories; they can stir you with bubbles, like a washing-up bowl. The innards are detestable and yet relatable as they bleed into a whole. Build a brick house in the garden where the butterflies can play and find a solid ground that takes the weight. This is where our secret s lay, with the spiders and the clay, with the jet washer and gazebo from last summer. Button down and make a living, look up and maintain the rhythm of a waking, virtue-laden cloud-shaped dream. Coffee grounds make shapes in a heavy, terracotta sink that I try to move with water to see your face. Before they run away, and clog another’s space, I chase them with wet fingers and then they’re gone.