write me a letter,
made of paper-machier words,
covered in sweat and come and tears.
spit on it as you fold it up,
and put it in an envelope,
and send it by moonlight
to my eyes alone
i'll be lying here
with swollen lips
and open arms
and bent knees
thinking about the meaning of home
and how i haven't got one
and how that's okay
as long as somebody out there will still
write me
a letter
made of newspaper cutout phrases
and clippings of eyeballs in magazines
and dip it in tabasco sauce,
and roll it up and fry it
and eat it
and miss me too.
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