Untitled ("But I sware, every romantic plant")

But I sware, every romantic plant in the world comes down to the bottom of my george; the thunder of, the suck up of tears, tables as Faulkner as my Mississippi Aunt told me over candlelight. All about daylight, and how backwards the first half of the second bible has me a part of being born now, and even as a lady I say I am not yet thirty three, but he is the cross that canyons look like down here I have got to do pain again; I am the way through West Virginia, and how I speak to myself. My arms the sway of a movie,, my universe stars still in the leftover daylight. Trying in seconds To touch myself High as you get Low as welll It is with and without music