outside the reason
        of writing
is an escape
into poetry,
the continuum
of words joined
        without grammatical
the jarring affect
of forgetting to make sense,

i sit
in this tiny chair,
force words to combine,
allow space & location,

& you,

the vagrant on looker,
never even had a chance,

it's this,
this ending
that only makes
it affordable

to be continued: XXVIII – (“i love you”

outside, a symbol
towards, the leaning,
the park in evening,
pink hat through,
drive in open windows,
a table & a memory,
hallway moments, book
of together, notes
along, pages of, us