rose hips ters |
"don't get yourself worked up, he didn't even need a cast. After all, it's just a kid whose mother made him down the cow's gift, and took a fall for school, while someone played practice book music on...
Posted by zenda on Fri, 10 Oct 2008 04:18:00 PST |
with apologies to Ace-face |
I have been using Aurora's toothbrush. Not because I don't have my own, indeed there are two rather nice models, both green, next to Ashley's pinkish-red, in the pint glass that sits Colgate smirched...
Posted by zenda on Fri, 20 Jun 2008 08:01:00 PST |
stir a little in their slumber |
deeper FlawsThen the cello may playoutsidein drifts.in mudslides. (joni's blood, like fine wine)bright [morn]ings over ill winter lost.Apples, Fruitbuds, lifewhat could have been a Fat bouquet, love ...
Posted by zenda on Thu, 12 Jun 2008 05:52:00 PST |
sex for the ugly ones |
storming.yes. this shake and sudden soaked heavyloud and darkand dominativemy eternal metaphor for sex,is cruelly literal.punched face, kids crying, stolen favorite red pencil case, stashed and trashe...
Posted by zenda on Sun, 08 Jun 2008 09:33:00 PST |
it is four in the morning the end of december, I’m writing you now . .. oh, wait, nevermind. |
It is dark outside, still relatively early morning and post-storm, the worst of it anyway, or the best of, however you look at it. It is a jungle outside of my window. Finally it is the season that h...
Posted by zenda on Sun, 08 Jun 2008 07:05:00 PST |
wearing her necklace and crying inappropriately at her service |
It is a strange bark in your gutthat hurts like hell. worse then its smile (screaming out the window it is finally!)all overbite.hard working ladies forget to lunch, wear lipstick across the fat of th...
Posted by zenda on Sun, 25 May 2008 10:23:00 PST |
illiterate bastards with big fancy hats on our silly little heads |
they call it a fall,rallying togetherwith arms outstretched a makeshift netof fragile failing hands together.They call it cold but beautiful,stinging the tips of you,sparkling before the meltin the su...
Posted by zenda on Mon, 12 May 2008 06:51:00 PST |
all of the stars look the same, strange staring mother-fuckers |
Listen now, the retching.asick stomachsvomit.orange and brownish thingsleft on this neck,once praised for its swan like wire perfection,clumping together strands of hair as it dries. Thank God, (and w...
Posted by zenda on Mon, 12 May 2008 04:24:00 PST |
the pesto girl. |
bitch was right,her face never smiles,but that's because she is busy with birds and real names of flowers,not to mention crying in the corner,yes. you made her do that.
Posted by zenda on Fri, 09 May 2008 09:04:00 PST |
a word of advice sir. |
a light like that sir,begs to be seen.holes in her stockings sir,wear her more thenyour guess would do.It is a jungle on the floorpapers flying monkeys fists and stomachs.Best to push her awaybefore s...
Posted by zenda on Sun, 04 May 2008 08:32:00 PST |
