pancake, i hope you’re still doing well & kissing cowbells & running across rivers making moon spells, holding onto seashells chanting wedding vows on balch hill & gluing on windmills, papering your dreams still, i hope you’re listening to del water running time trials & glittering down montshires & killing liars, stilling soft fires & stomping your pink boots on wildfires. i hope you’re still painting still lives & that sometimes you still cry writing word files or doing silly word tiles but never while pricing stock profiles. i hope you’re still writing poems & that you haven't learned the word juvenile i hope you’re still letting your hair down like feet down wet paved webster & braiding it like garlic knots, laughing at each stressed quarter mile then jumping in quarries undressed underrated understood and unimpressed by the rest of the world when they don't see your glitter & while you’re there i hope you still have chicken nuggets on tuesdays i hope they still make those chicken nuggets on tuesdays. they were mediocre but they were always there & a good time. i called you pancake but i think now you’re a mermaid. i don’t have a reason why it might be your hair or the season, or how you can sit still in a crashing wave and bask in the sun for a time or change who you are for a job but take off those clothes at the end of a day or the way your braided ponies flow each quarter lap like the atlantic into the mouth of a city but do take time til dinner slow, play with letter tiles, make a show. swim in a cave ride a wave heck work in a bank, pass out at a rave run through the world with your words within & then write them -- read some, & then throw some away. eat pancakes. lots of them & grow mermaid
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