Saucilito days linger in the foreground of snowflake memories of the horror before birth
as folklore says we as Jews are dead before the first cry, first wonder of "why"
and I heard it from a librarian that you actually speak in air quotes or parenthesis and that's not the pot of the pasta that books down to slurpy heaven that puts the weight in you that saves the life.
don't save mine, don't save my breath.
as the air is too thick for the stir, I choke on the time costed to wake up to another day another morning and I'm not in mourning just...