Death And Writing
I already found the investment I made.
In notebooks and I keep them in stock.
Cooking up rough binding for later.
And maybe trying to become a musical chair.
Can’t waits.
It cost 37 dollars for a boat ride I don’t remember.
Cactus poking hopelessness into the scape.
I already typed up a million dollars out of nowhere, laughing.
I already found out that I died.
They tried to tell me in a withering chain of events.
I still find myself typing oddball things.
And I think the internet exists in weird places like this.
I already found myself typing.
The afterlife is a lot like earth except for the stuff you can’t ignore.
Flowers are already dead but no pollen is flying around ever.
The pencil-scape land and maybe an investment in a computer.
I kept notebooks in stock too.
Pencil leads last forever if you try.
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