I don't want to say too much about it.
because it's not really something i
understand. so when I come right down to it;
that hole at the edge of the world where
the birds come in on ships with tree branches
from universes we've never heard of.

when I come to the edge covered in ships
and the sounds of trains, car horns and my
own heart beating, I have been high.
for each streetcrack and streetlight. a trip
to the post office to tell the last postman
"these letters are fucked man, we can
barely create words!" which looks a lot like
what would have happened if someone
had forgotten to pay the meter outside. High.

it is an orange tree. where the branches are
high, and the summer is smoldering. if you want
to help yourself, a person has to overcome the
challenge. sometimes it helps to call upon a
public school education rather than a deep breathe.
just to let you know, they will be delicious. oranges high.

_..

.credit to someone else for the last postman. i cannot remember who