waitin on an ok next four days for 140 bucks....or whatever....my ending of patterned leg sports/ spans... blood sport, expand....
out the ends of beds sit bedpans. my wildness ensues in passionate complasence, the dairy
component of my hands empty spaces, my shoes fitting on with untied laces. how you can
float on most cases, how my skin is coffin and still spacious
i saw baby dolls on shelves hooked on walls, that sprawled the length of young mexican girls daydreams.
clenched in the fingers of natural pulls, in CVS past shitty magazines to hardware tools, from revolutions of declarations of passions to school. murdered inhibitions, fist fights, fucked. strung across skin carpets
after bar and street close down. i still wish i got a magazine....could sleep....eat...not feel insane