What we believe we are seeing the drink in your hand clearing a crystalline wasser taste like hate putting itself bare cold and clear I know what I want to shoot and who I will put under my aim myself the hole in my heart must be filled with a bullet is easier to see all this with an object like this one gun in my hand in your view in my mind in time death comes into our arms again again and again to be zen or jen or then else all would kill itself in view of van Gogh’s black ravens to bring bread abroad the river’s shadow where we grow into spawning sleepy willows to bring the blow of charcoal dust in my corroding smoking lungs more than what I am seeing in this blunt covered object. Title: Irrationality and my hatred.