I sit at my desk.
My legs are white, and beefy, and hairy.
Once again on the roof
the abandoned souls of yesterday.
We never should have fed them.
corn bread heffers
interspacial combat zone tonight.
Another dreary drizzler sifting sugar.
I fear nothing but
the bloodless act of removal.
They're cheering us on, but
we don't speak the language.
Each bite of flesh requires stiches.
We torched the damp moss foliage.
It ended with a smile.
The tender flesh hooks pulling up and out.
The smug lips of motion.
One organ in hand, and the other.
The itchy raft, grey woolen layers.
sleeping by day drifting by night.
No one can hear.
We gnawed on blocks of cheese
fingers digging in seeking ball bearings.
It didn't matter how far back it took.
The tearing of fabric made our teeth hurt.
Yellow crumbling death knell
Cords and knots to each other
gut linking mesh
chained in fluid harmony.
it's all
slow hop hunting
musk and chickens
the castle of my linens
So my sleeping pattern is pretty screwed.
I saw Frida tonight. It was inspirational in a lot of ways.
That's the way to live. That's the way to live, with artistic and intellectual passion and integrity.
And hot unibrow action, damn. I think I'd be attracted to girls with connected eyebrows now.
Lately I feel like I'm getting all fired up about how to live my life yet I end up laying around all day doing nothing. I wonder if it's all the marijuana I'm smoking.
Pretty soon I'll have to will myself to not feel groggy or tired and do something at least a little bit impressive.
