hawthorne in my side

would think today
a good occasion
for tying
my hair up
pink ribbons
and changing his name

the grasshopper locks
jump from creaking wooden frames
as i unclose all the windows
to exist

collective conscious
with fungal hallucinations
from eating bad wheat

think of the tortured writer
beautiful you are
in your struggle
to find words

you have a masters degree
in quiet desperation

we live and die
as the music plays

all of this
in a single thought
of you
a typewriter
and a prayer
a day

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