for one more second
then lets it go.
she passes over the pencil pressed trenches
and scans the thought cards in the mirror,
presses the heart button with love
& feels all the channels.
She Smokes Another Cig To Stay Awake
lost finger, touch mine harder
i like your gliding gun
your dissolved press of my wrists
the ripples in your eyes so ... so.. big
your paper thighs in/on all that immobile lace..
ah girl.. come sit on my face! love the intoxication roll but hate that hair.
were my eyes not
in a bird with vacui stare.
.. u left cheese on the counter
plus. . u nothin' but a bichejos
bichejob and u never help me out. and your last piece was a cut-up.
.
listen to me.. above the lips above the scar & the light halo...
Liebestraum no.3 ...
no image.
*
blue ink day. close the book, squash the bug. Nina looks into the toothpaste splattered mirror. the skin:
becoming more and more discolored, blotched, broken. capillaries blooming.
the day had started with another unexplainable nose bleed. she was tainted by an ugly virus. and it was growing stronger. just seeing made her tired. she wanted to go back to sleep, even if the sleep turned into another storm. she saw herself walking towards him, the ground rising, the sky gold-lit, her skirt, wildly pink. something she would never wear. there was always a house, rooms filled with disorder. mostly she craved the sense of smell but there was no button for that. a hurricane blowing in and out, minutes of nothing where she could rest. another hour another sleep. this time she can see pictures inside of him, membranes of elongated, orange flowers curling in a serenade of love, a woolly texture. a dixie cup --- its small star design glowing neon, the points pogo-ing up and down, up and down. thick and thin lines circling the rim. a card covered in tiny, pulsating starfish. then again, a nothingness. the annoying sound of the phone ringing brings Nina back. she gets off of the cloud bed and walks to the picture window, puts her finger on his name. no mail.
becoming more and more discolored, blotched, broken. capillaries blooming.
the day had started with another unexplainable nose bleed. she was tainted by an ugly virus. and it was growing stronger. just seeing made her tired. she wanted to go back to sleep, even if the sleep turned into another storm. she saw herself walking towards him, the ground rising, the sky gold-lit, her skirt, wildly pink. something she would never wear. there was always a house, rooms filled with disorder. mostly she craved the sense of smell but there was no button for that. a hurricane blowing in and out, minutes of nothing where she could rest. another hour another sleep. this time she can see pictures inside of him, membranes of elongated, orange flowers curling in a serenade of love, a woolly texture. a dixie cup --- its small star design glowing neon, the points pogo-ing up and down, up and down. thick and thin lines circling the rim. a card covered in tiny, pulsating starfish. then again, a nothingness. the annoying sound of the phone ringing brings Nina back. she gets off of the cloud bed and walks to the picture window, puts her finger on his name. no mail.
