Journal # 03.07.15

Someone will take me apart for sure. In me they will find a small treasure, not long for this earth. A heart which beats unexpectedly strong through all its scar tissue. The scars are dark and long, and tell of relationships all gone wrong. The beat is made in America, though it could be made in your beautiful country as well. It beats for silent mornings of fresh snow. It beats for nights long ago, drunk and high in magnificent clubs warehousing the dancing exuberance. Youth of Chicago. It beats for kittens come and gone, taken by dogs and cars and God. The scars hold the blood in. The blood is blue for me and you. The blood is purple mountains majesty. The blood has thinned in California, steeped in wine and sun and golden gate rouge. My system is a centrifuge. My dreams circulate. Making rounds of institutions. Geometry like a web. The architectural brilliance of our cities. I am but a little chaos in a lined and static blueprint. I am lost and found all over again. Take me apart. I'm yours.