Today.
Today.
I imagined your face.
Flecked with rose.
The first of spring.
Freckled nose. "
Pathos of things." I'm okay.
Nothing rips through me, like you and the Lemonheads.
Worn computer screen, cybernetic atrophy.
Staring back at me, someone I can't reach.
Forever.
Digital ring, doesn't fit me.
Not big enough.
I've got big needs.
My own Vermont, lovely in spring.
I'll never know. "
Pathos of things." I'm okay.