| sketches of an empty hotel room |
[Feb. 9th, 2004|08:54 pm] |
her mind is a rabbit
that carries too many karets
rolex (to)
kotex (oh)
no sex
overzealous revelations
skirt the possibility
of exploitation from a
foreign market
HARK
I hear your
angels cry for
release
from this measure
for measure their
song replenishes
pleasure
long
forgotten...
but its all rotten
they are celestial sinners |
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| comfortable |
[Jan. 30th, 2004|08:26 pm] |
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im a foreign stranger to this feeling. i havent seen you in a while and i'm worried ill wander off again if you stop picking flowers, stop slinging sex, stop whirling my mind into cake batter. preheat to 450 and stick me in. im ready. let it rip. |
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| Last nights pants |
[Nov. 29th, 2003|02:48 pm] |
It's as if I've lost my toes and forgotten how to walk. the light is yellow today. woke up in a daze of confusion and mothers threatening to check the pockets of last nights pants, now todays, soon to be tomorrows. crosswalk bowling was a success until those little men on bicycles kicked us out with flashlights and holstered reprimands. Went to the sidewalk, got a crowd. Max from italy was there, so was gimpy. Where were you? Where was I.
David Bowie hands me golden years through the wires and i regret sleep. I regret hours wasted. I regret not loving. I regret everything. I regret nothing. |
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birdparade's journal