&

Is Twisted In Is

CP & MT

He doesn’t like when we take outside jobs
The objects are always people having conversations about hallways
We have not once missed this
Lights start the eye on fire so
Even if they slept for one year it’d be fine
The problems will all fit in that one net
Our youth is no kind thing
We will have fewer unfinished projects
A polis passing the jailhouse gates
Decide that despite all he was acceptable
The payment is inexact and impractical
Sounds like another but two voices make
Speak Phyllis the girl’s name was Phyllis
We will want to remember this

CP & MT

A painting taken to the place of incoherence and black like
She drew faces through the mail and sent them snail
Happiest in the wake of
It is 9:00 so minor fish wash up
We respond to emergencies
Never the same river two times
The fish swimming against the current towards the net
Mother missaying the name she meant to
You will gain the spirit animal you have been waiting to
Wherever we travel we prefer to be alone
Corrupting the vision into visions we’ve known
The center of Haymarket is history
It will exist it will exist it will exist
Windows yellow and plain from breathing

CP & MT

We have never returned to the burial
Grief is serial
A memory of all four on the porch like the 70s
He did the police in different voices
The townspeople have different voices
This is where the language of dreams is made
Confessing what you are going through with work
See it bleak and bleedy
See a fire burning light in the herring net
The payment is inexact and impractical
There was new ice and then new ice cracking over the new ice
Choosing not to be responsible for the sour taste
Seeing an elephant in the corner not wanting to talk about corners
Every circle is twisted in the middle

CP & MT

Father gave it to us said he will give us all
Enough time there is never measures
No exact shadow on the stone’s hollow naming there is
Horror and a faster pace than we have become accustomed to
Deciding if the chicken is raw or cooked
He is deciding the breath of the cry-out
He is understanding the precise shards of line
In the portrait only a net
If we could forget about the asset
The windows are yellow from breathing
We have never returned to the burial
Corrupting the vision into visions we’ve known
Astonishing astonishing astonishing
We will inherit the ability to hear that