fluf·fing, 6

The Heart Line of my Train of Thought, when examined at .5x reveals itself to be a winding knot, Steel wool derailing into a Molotov Cocktail of circular and individualistic uncertainties.

Everything everywhere always and forever I'm your favorite crime

I wish you could unearth memories manually and reliably, like lifting a manhole lid or digging up a shiny tabletop from a pile of distracting housewares. Fiction.

My music box has lost its locks, its puny whimpers ceased And now it's up to you and me to search its holy things

What if it was someone’s job to decide who actually gets nickels for their “if I had a nickel” exasperations and another person’s job to distribute said nickels? Is that what the Nickel Brothers is about? I haven’t read it yet.