Friday Dec 09, 2005

0
Fresh faced.
Rotten faced.

By heart, by element, by
Bubble, by sphere (If I

Were me, we would
Just see about that!)

Taking a bath
With geometry

Unruly line, every
Wrinkle defined, I

Latch the hairy
Window and dice

The conversation
Skyward. Stones

Are steam and gold
Is green, the rising

Sun is very still, in fact
It doesn't move, advancing

The double of the dark frame, me

The zone is drawn like heat

And every star will shiver.



improv. 2.18-2.22 am.


**


So...tell me about love...
VIEW 10 of 10 COMMENTS
judas:
pouting stems from desiring certain intimacies that are denied to me by the frivolity of distance and the responsibility of my counterpart to his studies. makes me cranky in the pants, it does. and now i've developed the female equivalent of blue balls, a consternation not easily remedied and usually accompanied by a headache.

grr. top it off with the fact that i am having a weepy weird day, and that's the making's for wackiness. an orgasm not elicited from masturbatory practices is the only thing that will cure me.

thus, i pout

fuck.

glad you're enjoying the poem-trees. i've taken to just giving them away to people. someday, i won't have three boxes to get rid of...
testykitten:
mmm, in my experience so far it (romantic love) has been the most interesting type. but i dont yet have a child...

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