It's like a warming ice.
That's an an old sentiment, sure.
But can't you distill it? It's
Something, I'm sure,
Akin to trance, a soul-shy
Permafrost breeding
Smoke from adrenal, slowly.

Turn my words on me. Black
Dog that spins it's wheels
Where some might fly. Below
The eye I taste my own lip
Bleeding. Steaming like
A river on the moon.

That's awkward, but you
Should feel it. Peel it
From your mind, I said.
But you didn't hear. Hands

Over ear, just one.

Here it is: VanGogh

In a parka

You in the summertime

Shivering.


***

Man o man. I'm tired. I feel like I've been beaten with baseball bats by midget lesbians on PCP. Sleep schedule is way off...if it was ever really on in the first place. It tends to go in odd cycles, anyway. Up early, in bed early for a while; then late, late nights with little sleep, but fine. But this is different. Not a conscious rhyme or reason. Just...restless. I need rest.

*

This house is no palace, but it's getting there. Still, there's boxes everywhere, but we've needed a break. I guess it wasn't enough. Alot more to do. Lacey's "coming of age" YOW-WOW-Yoau-WOW-mao-meow....all night. Then she passes out for a few hours, then all over again. She's such a sweetie-peetie, but GARRRRGH!!!!

And I really want to paint.

Yeah, Inanna.

This too will pass.


I'm off, boyz and girlie-o's


'till later

bleary
rain