"I will chase this impulse to its inconclusive resolution.
That is how you know that I am dumb.
While wandering the treetops and the logarithmic dark I found a lovely cliff for us to jump off of.
I've been so busy chasing windmills. Grim death was nipping at my heels.
Your name in bright letters above my doorway. Pale ghost of all the love that I conceal.
With eyes closed on the interstate I wish I could've died beside you. That is how you know that I am done.
These portraits of a modern fool I sketch till I can barely stand it. You prophesied the joke that I've become.
You were still busy chasing Jesus, these pills on my lips communion bread.
I beg your saints to come forgive me forsaking the living for the dead. & last night was the first time in three weeks that I could hear you speaking. That is how I know that I am wrong.
& Dulcinea's bright blue voice that creaks unending in the wood frames follows me still sleepless to the dawn.
I've been so busy chasing windmills. Grim death is sleeping in my bed. Remember when we could find salvation from every hollow nightmare that we fled."
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