all everything is diamonds complaining. shores i can't get wrecked on. every bar i show up to might as well be empty, gaped tooth with townies & over weight rockers. is the bouncer talking to me or is there mosquitos in flight, powerlines over the steeple, something. i just shove my id at anything that asks. it expired on my birthday this year, me shedding it like a spider molts skin. back home i'm a pin-prick constellation wrapped around a marmalade jar. cut me up to make valentines, those slim black construction paper hearts.