non forensical |
on the prowluttering a low gutteral growla tight, slight body lies between these trite words.you know what's up when you beat off...into the distance.what exists in the foregroundrapes the backgrounda...
Posted by on Fri, 05 Dec 2008 20:58:00 GMT |
the sword of the samurai hand was not sharp enough |
cords.wrappedwrappedaroundaroundi'm going to live on the farm. the farm where we party. i'm the DJ. and we dance. and farm.so much trapped in the skull. i love.i miss.i wish.like in the labyrinth...Co...
Posted by on Fri, 19 Sep 2008 14:11:00 GMT |
the ethics of avoidance |
sipping an empty cup again andagain to avoid the statistics and research methodsregurgitation of inked out knowledgethat makes the throat hurt and need moreand more water that is avoidingits place in ...
Posted by on Wed, 10 Sep 2008 17:48:00 GMT |
brainpocket. |
I wish to scatter the contents of brain across a silver platter. To display them as trinkets removed from the pocket of my consciousness.Collected over the day, some get discarded during sleep, thrown...
Posted by on Tue, 08 Jul 2008 11:00:00 GMT |
harassing butterflies |
secretdeep setsea gritkeeps itburied leave itboundby a tourniquetof quietliver sicknessempties with a quicknessonto blank canvaspicturesque purgethe urgeto clean a dirty pastwith a surgeof regret
Posted by on Thu, 29 May 2008 21:12:00 GMT |
gleetopia |
one eye watching the presentone eye in a distant corner of the futureit's not worth watching the past to play out repeatedlyin strings of salaciousnesssalivating in greens and purplesthe idea better t...
Posted by on Thu, 15 May 2008 12:32:00 GMT |
catacombs |
what did you murmur in an another's ear canal other than what you meant to saythen took to the other coast before the amiable skies could gather a breathto blow you down to the groundwith a puff of wh...
Posted by on Sun, 24 Feb 2008 01:00:00 GMT |
twigs |
green anxiety of mint mutiny sit sit be patientgo go don't get angryno passion for compassionthe passing of an emotionhow fast will the time pass? surrender the minutes and hours and daysmyself can't ...
Posted by on Thu, 13 Sep 2007 12:25:00 GMT |
turning lead into...something |
Quiet heart. Languid.Palm frond rustle.The same thing.But never quite the same. Where is the Legend?Is it personal?Where is the treasure?Where does the journey start?My map.Hidden somewhere in the cre...
Posted by on Tue, 17 Jul 2007 22:29:00 GMT |
city parts. |
Sad for the man with white bread in his hand the pigeons won't eat what he throwssidle away perhaps lucidity will strike the insides of his bald skull the second time around the blockwobble legged wig...
Posted by on Thu, 21 Jun 2007 22:09:00 GMT |
