during slow time we
strip billboards
looking for clues
the Welcome Ladies try selling trips
not one human can afford.
once M decided we should explore the L during daylight.
there was a mean bimmer he wanted to steal. I thought he must be talking about a tank but
then he explained
that it was a small vehicle that could fly, could blend into
clouds and hoover.
like a black helicopter? sort of, but more of a flat spin.
what will you give for it? ..a couple of the books.
Books?! - not THE Books!
maybe just the newer ones, they have no power.
even when the reader is pulled in by the sound bites?
don’t worry about it.
but I was..
I closed my eyes
to drown between his lines
greylight, hitting buildings like blood
a blue sky paraphrased by slush, bits of scale
circulating thru patches of black
sinking deeper, the water a throat
of eyelashes, of ink, torn flesh
moonbitter scars that pop and bulge
the taste of salt soundless
words under words trying to touch
pieces of heaven dotted
with sky, soft as toes in the sand
M and I try to sleep
on the, smothering
comicbook type bunk. we wait for rain,
listen to Vangelis.
recite parts from
The Lady of Shalott & so
the days keep running together.
I develop an eye infection -
M says it’s from the neon dust. .
something about how the colors are poison.
Even when i wear layers of clothing
you make the back of my neck tingle..
are your hands warm?
I smile because everything turns into something else..
there is a naked girl in the box above us-
another in the box below.
*
Later
our bodies are hot on a desk in front of a polished mirror > pure to see - white lace > and starched sheets, chiffon and minutes onwards, convolution-spending >
the it vibrating when we of now, despite our partial partly > I expand him in my pupils.
he’s on it and curious, anytime, to float with the shift > his body to me,
it’s real and everything, flesh moving forwards > on a repeated light spin <
the merry go-rounds > walls. I with a cig, go rounds between sheer curtains with him everywhere, he is my bedroom, > in its Merry- > Wonderfall. > even away, naked, in books >
He’s the same>,wombed, sometimes crazy & stray > I save the naked, go-rounds, reflect,consciously. i don’t know what it means. the repeated can box, wear vibrating tints rosy.
> Wonderfall. repeat me, even if jerk i ly, always, day.. even in his days of curtained silence, I keep these pages hidden on the roof with the cool rain and leaves.
strip billboards
looking for clues
the Welcome Ladies try selling trips
not one human can afford.
once M decided we should explore the L during daylight.
there was a mean bimmer he wanted to steal. I thought he must be talking about a tank but
then he explained
that it was a small vehicle that could fly, could blend into
clouds and hoover.
like a black helicopter? sort of, but more of a flat spin.
what will you give for it? ..a couple of the books.
Books?! - not THE Books!
maybe just the newer ones, they have no power.
even when the reader is pulled in by the sound bites?
don’t worry about it.
but I was..
I closed my eyes
to drown between his lines
greylight, hitting buildings like blood
a blue sky paraphrased by slush, bits of scale
circulating thru patches of black
sinking deeper, the water a throat
of eyelashes, of ink, torn flesh
moonbitter scars that pop and bulge
the taste of salt soundless
words under words trying to touch
pieces of heaven dotted
with sky, soft as toes in the sand
M and I try to sleep
on the, smothering
comicbook type bunk. we wait for rain,
listen to Vangelis.
recite parts from
The Lady of Shalott & so
the days keep running together.
I develop an eye infection -
M says it’s from the neon dust. .
something about how the colors are poison.
Even when i wear layers of clothing
you make the back of my neck tingle..
are your hands warm?
I smile because everything turns into something else..
there is a naked girl in the box above us-
another in the box below.
*
Later
our bodies are hot on a desk in front of a polished mirror > pure to see - white lace > and starched sheets, chiffon and minutes onwards, convolution-spending >
the it vibrating when we of now, despite our partial partly > I expand him in my pupils.
he’s on it and curious, anytime, to float with the shift > his body to me,
it’s real and everything, flesh moving forwards > on a repeated light spin <
the merry go-rounds > walls. I with a cig, go rounds between sheer curtains with him everywhere, he is my bedroom, > in its Merry- > Wonderfall. > even away, naked, in books >
He’s the same>,wombed, sometimes crazy & stray > I save the naked, go-rounds, reflect,consciously. i don’t know what it means. the repeated can box, wear vibrating tints rosy.
> Wonderfall. repeat me, even if jerk i ly, always, day.. even in his days of curtained silence, I keep these pages hidden on the roof with the cool rain and leaves.
