Sunday, November 22, 2009

street lamps catch with palms open piles of melted sky
dead bird marionette, my itinerant stare
i did things to you in my head about a million times
rag and bone dealer sold me death in a thimble
its lips are mauve
out windows, when he left i knew he wasn't coming back
last time a cried it's because i thought i heard angels singing
or i was watching a cartoon, it was at jades house years ago, i was on drugs, it's ok.
sleep in you like a cocoon, in the perverted way
washed away, ocean waves
mirrors grow
i bought ties i have not worn
ghosts tip over shit all the time.
i hate bukowski
i believe in romanticizing everything in a poverished life
i want to bruise your knees, photograph you, fuck you, and frame you.
i i i i i i i i i like nature, i like the inside of rooms...ive vomit on girls before.
living like the inuits, in the netherlands nwverlansds
telephone poles where jesus would die.
lights off, the tops of their wires hanging in the melted night sky.
ahh shit...this is it..the death of a mind grown ill
i will bury you in all the sweetness of the strawberry patch, bleeding my hands dry for you and under the determination of wild garlic you will ponder your own greatness on tops of clouds among the romans. when i wake, the water hast escape one moaning brush of desire to fill itself with such a home. will i still want a home? refreshed we'll see if you take after your younger brothers. in the 80's virgin births swept the nation, women everywhere were getting pregnant, quaaludes were cheapest in the 80's. the mary celeste was such a mystery. my mind cant breath...oh mind cannot breath.

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