And all 500,000 citizens of Witchita tried to get a piece of your beautiful face, drooling on themselves in the Methodist parking lots. Throw your shoes in the Arkansas, watch them get erased. Making calls in the business school. Is there no community college in your county? They branded themselves with an icon and an effigy, marked a fertile swath, a green elipse. An occidental notebook and an accidental mallergy. You're sleeping now, you're sleeping now in the grain, or the basement of the ECC. Spilling drugs on your premed clothes. Is there no grain alcohol available in cabinets? I'd go in but I'm scared and the museum got closed, so instead I took a bus to the mountains and the labyrinths. Home. A quarter million children in the downtown of Witchita, playing in their suits in the fountains and the grates. Spraying water at the girl with the flute and the mandolin. Red skin, golden tone, sunflower state.
We all know it's appalling but you're the only one with a bomb in your hand.