the last few weeks were happy ones, but happy, past past. questions and marks and prints, tainted glass, i used to call them happy shades because they take photographs of the past in the now and the sun has always been around, maybe it takes a long time to become indifferent, maybe i will never have that time. old times and rhymes of empty flowers and silly smiles, fake, hopeful confusion, but i would still be on my feet and the wine flows on and on without touching anyone, down throats and rivers, floating and shivering, holy like blood, oh holy holy holy holy holy holy etc.

moments, i dont think they mean anything

and then the beautiful, beautiful road, oh canada, and your face sketched on it twice

much love, and the realisation