Dear

Dear friend,

you're limp words end in monotoned excellence.
Why are they not public knowledge?
What are they: the shelved dream?

1/2

Dear friend,

I drink rice milk. 
No one needs to know why or what time
I ingest and enjoy.

There's simple bruises which ease 
a pain.

From left rib to right.
You feel my face, it's closer to the hounds
as once predicted. 

Safe pockets of genius reduced like Coles bread.
How discounted, one must feel.

2/2