you're an exanthem in any case, youre (an) exanthem in general,concerning nothingand to no onein particular,hello! yes! me!
what i would say to your facelove, theres proof of itfelt in murmurs we all know:the electric echoes of tellurian pediclesmining for the perfect blend of pulpand theater,and thirsty root synapses casting Babels out of vagariesrecycled, filtered, mangled,or whatever on Earth or Hadesit takes to burn that smile for you;and you wear it with such a spurious pride,especially mordantin light ofyour inhaling an unknown cosmoshiding chaosin the mashand into you and me and every one of us-just -waiting for the crashing of the planet-moon that wafts above you, too ghostly and unrealor the hand on your elbow from a childtoo lite to ripple your nerves like knowingor a kiss from a face that puzzles in darknesstoo warm to survive another night of this,and waiting, long, for the drip that soothesthe sleeping fear of this wakeless lot,and waiting for the violent thrustthat knocks down your copper stills;and proof is lost,and love is real.
400mg ibuprofen 400mg ibuprofenheadnightweary with an acheof discontentlike a warhorsemade to plowthe valley fieldswith a bone-spademade from a loverslast gasp . . .or were itmy own jaded sigh?
tzolk'in tzolk'indo not doubt me,solid, serousand so longas days arrangethemselves for theeill live for-everin yourbureau.
tangent "tangent"from passing eyesso far removedthe reign of innocence resumes;a moment's dreaminfinitythe birth, death of divinity.what power knownand strength to wieldwould hold this matter safe and still . . .witless, pathlessforfeit of baneheaven, home and all but your name?
i would do it againmustnt the subversive bulb of my being, robbing minerals and moisture from a cleft in the mireburn brightest for all things, else for naught?in what hill of crags and chalky cliffs should i stab root, aim to churn upwards to the closest starif i must bloom one petal of regret?
ImmolationWe've done it again,Fell into the sordid routine.We drink, we drug, we screw,We fight, you leaveThe next day is filled with apologies.This merry go round's fun,But I think it must end.We're hurting each other(And it's not emotionally.)Hate is not how I want you toRemember me or I you.We're done for. For good.No more hiding in the sinews.No more living in the selvageOf garter lace, your dark thighsWrapped in zigzags, martyred,Murdered to a blind spot flame.In this room of beds and bedlamDrunk and drawn for strangers' rent,I've no more flesh to give you,No more matter from the headOr lather for the pain.I've taken great strides to reduce the hurtI've applied, as I'm sure have you.But we just seem to jive,Hurting each other should have been a clue.But I liked to be all black and blue from youLeft memories of how you've done me to the point of tears.I guess someone else will have that pleasure nowIn the dark, seedy room we'd made our love shack.How
Re:communicationmy body will tire of earthand i will tire of beinga thing that tires of beinga thing.but you are none of it.so nothing i can tire ofis anything you'll ever be.