this is not divine.

Mention me in passing because that's all I am:

a transient dream

and not a very pleasant one at that.

It shakes me up and out, shipping with the nostalgic blur of memory

and partial postage tatooed on my bum knee

be hoping, be weary, be contagious, be fate stuck like a thorn in your dumb luck and grin like you planned it when it works out that way.