All your things are flowers and your flowers thrive. It’s summertime and we go out into the fields and we watch the trees move slow. The wind is painful. The clouds are vague. Your skin is bare and your skin is hot and we get near the trees so I can eat the trees. You say THESE THINGS DON’T FIT IN HERE. I’m rubbing bark on your skin to make you cold. You say IT’S A GODDAMN DESERT ALL THE TIME. We aren’t near a lake so we don’t drink the lake. We’re thirsty, we drive so many miles. I have a bag of your smallest things and all I think is FLAT. There’s desert everywhere. There’s your hair everywhere. I think FUCK YOUR UNDERWEAR. There’s shredded tire everywhere. I think FUCK YOUR HAIR. I am stuck out here with something sticky in my throat and when I throw all your flowers into the trash they become the clouds. You say I JUST DON’T UNDERSTAND WHY THERE IS ONLY ROAD. You’re in your underwear. There are not so many leaves. The trash is all empty boxes. The empty boxes never belonged here. Your underwear is not a flower. Your flowers are not all gone. I find a lake and I drink that lake. I find your hair and I keep your hair.