I'VE WRITTEN ALL OVER THIS IN HOPES YOU CAN READ IT Nate Pritts Send me some dispatches, some sultry spring grasses, some water from the sky on the windshield all in droppings.  Tell me this burgeoning is a spring from the future & the hopes that I’ve harbored are structures fulfilled.  These buildings can reach way up to the sky.  This sky full of rockets or other projectiles. This some kind of booming.  I’m sitting here waiting & I know what comes next will come next no matter what, that ready or not I’m not ready for what today will turn into if I blink my eyes slow & slumber through the tragedy.  These words that I’m saying are all part of my programming. I’m a goddamn Romantic, a poet or a puppet. I’ve got a voice of my own & maybe four others to master.  There’s a mournful cadence & a flustered two step.  There are bodies & there are bodies & they’re crushing against us.  Tell me what it looks like in your sparkly tomorrowland.  Are there people or less people or masses pulsating?  I’m living today but aware of my past; I’m hoping people forget about the cities I’ve burnt down accidentally.  The towns all abandoned & the villagers bereft.  I’m scanning the horizon for signs of something lovely.  I’m scouting green hillsides in search of some treasure.  I’m loaded & tired & I’ve been given permission.  I’ve been told I deserve it though my deserving is unintentional. I’ve been dared to make sense of the illegible bluster but the trick is I’ve walked down the aisle twice this life already & I’m regretful & lonely.  I’ve made nothing but messes so let me stand still to see what runs right into me wrongly.  I’ve taken some notes on this paper I’m sending, along with some hopes enveloped within it.  Write back & say what this scrawl means to you.