screaming at low volumes
jgtaylor I know who you are, No matter your form. Come to me at my death and we will kiss. You play the shadow, each moment, each now, better than you play the sun on green leaves. Come to me when I wake, that I may enter you alive from our dances together in my dreams. … Read morePsalm of the mist
“There is no understanding.”
“Who’s the fucking Nihilist here?”
she left without a trace, hat on the back of the couch, cigarette burning in the ashtray, drink barely touched, not even a good-bye …. and I hoped she ran into the best, all that could be good ____ when she flushed the toilet and came back in, laid on the couch, lifted the cigarette, … Read moreuntitled #831
such contrived complexities, these dreary dreams of loneliness, standing crumbling from eons past. No, i will not look at the clouded sky, nor remember the Dandelion’s wish, but instead content myself to wasteland that i might decorate simply like a frontier wife, waiting to die. Oh, we’ll meet on border fences, say goodbye a few … Read moreat least there’s bad poetry
had i no eyes to know your form – had i no hands to know your touch – no mind to see your beauty, no tongue to say this much, your presence wanders across the landscape of my being, an explorer of my secrets, you follow me as i go fleeing no lips to receive … Read morelove’s immigrants
they said william blake died of a broken heart; they say a lot of things in seedy coves and bars made for pirates’ whores. they don’t even know blake, they don’t know wordsworth, they don’t know to the aching pit of a lost soul, they don’t know fucking walt whitman. this kind of thing, this … Read moreknowing someone or somewhere
Go & Fuck yourself … take all your love and shove it down my throat, then eat my liver. { everything is synthesized } { there was never anything } and still, still!, 40 Million Butterflies are stolen by 40 thieves. Meat cleaver hands on ham hock arms silently begrudge the company … I make … Read moreschlachthof
the rain outside can not wash clean what it has sullied. it has sullied my soul, infinitely, eternally … it was the same for Genghis Khan. The public affection is a sad compensation for Just Doing Our Jobs, so we lean in for a kiss. it was the same for Genghis Khan.