Sentimental Code

spin-bird, snap-wire! how have you been?

sober. and, i finally found the prints in the chamber. the
bug is still under a handkerchief, all the shine gone from
its inky,

spoony legs.

and in the garden, where we used to sit,
almost everything has gone to shade.

nah, hoop skirt, lace collar, kitty cat.

hoodwink, hoodoo.

-grin-

hey now, pocket-plus.

plum flush?

taxi, pixel, gotta rush!

À la prochainet..

YOUR LINES..

strewn across my bed ~

I could be trying to sleep
under a ceiling made of
bark, branch and leaf;
freedom vents
allowing the body to finally speak -
white and

slippery
curves
twisting
like a poppy
against your dark
mouth
and
cheek

'folie de doute'

red with arrows
the night pours forth
with mad glory!

1.

-Morning-


I am sitting at the window again
a paperback face
your mouth opens
to kiss


2.

angel feathers
spotted in the smoky drift
a cameo
in last night's dream

dancing to the acoustic version of Layla
like a cause
rising and falling

falling



3.

-postcard-
from your sweetness.
your, like, and is.
your,
completely alone

Get Un dressed & dance the ghost with me. www.the-sisters-of-mercy.com/

Nachtmusik

You wear your red t-shirt like
my fever,

cover your eyes with sun glass..

and

drive, drive, drive.

I wake, only to find more snow has
fallen.


..


Fallen

looks

that

glitter

in

their

shells

..


Shells


&


songs. sung out loud.
spaces, roll by and by

your cursive heart.

the crunch of tires on ice.


Ice

blue. the waitress sets down our steaks. more lemon slices in a plastic cup.
your phone vibrates on the table. tattered cherubs stuck on the wall.

BELL

and she did..

she did see him again and it was odd because on that day she had baked a hen with ooddles of onions and garlic. (she threw the neck & gizzards out.) and the sun was only a white smidge of a smudge. and she was glad she had worn her navy blue, v-neck, Par Four, acrylic sweater, (made in the usa.) .. it was a sort of soft and warm hug that he could not give her, for he had no arms in this place.

UV but no cigs

honey bunches of oats ~

spring in winter ~

I hold on to your lip gloss.
I hold on


to

what is you:

light

in the most

un·ex·pect·ed


.


you are a frame

a flame

a color not of smoke

.