Grad grind, gentles, till the park is gone

his hair was like furry lining brushed and see-through and he was pale, his pinkness had a descent
in it, like he had warmed down,

but you could tell by the way he took up space, scared somebody would get him for all that careless
bumping into people,

trained in expansion at an early age, his demands at the informational meeting were sharp and
unchecked in his mother’s

bloom, with her metal hands,

while his father explained the proper use of the materials to the principal. maria and cesare and the 
theory of handcuffs,

asking for what they took because it’s hot as hell between the baguette, don’t bring your own 
tamales, and the house of york.

the plan when we were surfing was to blow that school up with some extra words, urge kilombo
more than across, get us some land.

here go el durm in the window.