MA - MIA - JCG (or words lost on duty, by me)

I can't bake
    [but can be there]

    the pastry roll.
our personal bubbles mash about

      in tangent spaces
Pulsar bound

          and sweetly subside to soundtracks,

      discussions left dwindled to ashes hinting at
  generosity

          and relief
and states besides Ohio.

          Constant shutter
collisions for our memories and we're all
atwitter bitter
              feelings left
on McMillan, but we're so far
              gone it's
        geographical.

I want the old world

          back

                    I'll make it mine -
      but I have it now.

      The pastry resides

in annals I wish

were      available to public display

                    but I didn't get accepted

at UC for
                the MRI
due to      metal

      in my mouth  [among other places]
so you might not find out

          even when I kiss you

        in Athens.