I WISH I WAS WITH YOU NOW

the art has typos in it.
what it means flashes across its forehead.
typos hanging from the ceiling
of a gorgeous former bowling alley.
a story dragging on the floor.
the age of my skin wells me up
when my shower beads on it.
someone is swimming out of the
moisture in the air towards me.
this storm of green is going to
belch me out into a unguardable position
and only later will violence find me.
typing more wrong more often.
crittering on the roadside
wondering what a road is
and where it comes from.