| 04722 0173201 |
[Feb. 8th, 2005|09:12 pm] |
there is nothing there for him
nothing there for you
things there for
we have salted the street ,&broomed it.
licked the plates and made all appropriate bows.
have flinched ,become the most dreadful sort of person
i am raking the news, fallen on a
bedside table lamp ,broken ceramic, stabbed throat
gurgling
salud salud
only mysterious hoots and that sound of an un-oiled hinge.
nothing here to keep me,nothing here but continuous daydreaming of a nother place.
sometimes the beach, in a hanging bed of rope
or in that apartment over looking rias
in that grey doomed city of fog
the beach, hanging in a bed of rope.
staring at eyes
playing solitaire with you
drawing nearer to that inside
to lean a little further ,do.
make a privy smile ,yes.
unfathomable accounts of it all in fact.
those come later ,after it has all happened.
the meantime, waiting waiting.
for no thing in particular, the moment there is a 'gunshot-go' |
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| untitled |
[Sep. 17th, 2004|06:47 pm] |
in the middle of a
a hurricane
my rhythm is out
i have hands &hands &hands
but no muscle |
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| merde |
[Sep. 13th, 2004|02:26 pm] |
rosencr
feel disolved
bone marrow,narrow
walk away from everything ever
walk off a cliff
fall |
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bhoot's journal