Six Foot Giraffe, by Kyle Smith
Sweet, sweet Florida.
The lone wolf eats his Thanksgiving dinner alone.
It all comes around.
I like imagining each foot competing for the lead when I run.
That nail was black for months. Running.
Highway Patrolman by Bruce Springsteen.
Something I read.
Nice city. Clean.
Wanting what cannot be had.
Dreams have a way of taking me to see people and places that I’ve worked very hard to forget.
Your hands are too dainty to uncork the terrible things I keep.
Its a heart.
Spent a good majority of my elementary school career doodling up contraptions that would enable me to fly. Even collected a few feathers on my walks home.
This is my chair. Always preferred a good solid wooden chair. One that creaks and cracks when I balance on its back legs. Call me old fashioned, but it feels more human than the 15-point adjustment ergonomic alternative.
Dan is one of my best friends. He’s a good guy, through and through.
This was his reply to our very dainty friend Michelle, when she was in pain from bumping her knee into I can’t remember what. I thought it was quite classy though.
A man named Skelly.
Boy to man did me in.
One year of doodles.
Those clouds seem to follow my brother around.