screaming at low volumes
The August dreams alter all of time. It is the future now, but I can’t live in it. A persistent sensation that might cause one to question the surrounding circumstances: August moons appear in September, the stars ever off. They might question my ability to understand time. They might question my agreement.
Harems of forgiveness for all we have done, zu seriose genomen! I would have your crimes, all of the decency hidden behind eyes glimmering in firelight; I would have you that I might one day forgive my own trespasses.
The wetness of her vagina might have occasionally repulsed me, except for my fascination with stains. I’ve collected: menstruation, piss, squirting orgasms, sperm, mucus, spit… Archival Remnants of activities. She complains of the evidence of love. I say, “It only bothers you, for I’m too drunk to recall, but I’m certain your spot is yours … Read morestains
when she wrote of her disdainfor monogamy,I smiled.when she wrote “soul mates”I cringedwhen she wrote aboutgiving unconditionally,I winced.When she stormed out,moon stomping across the patio,and grabbed her phone,she said, “I don’t trust you!”I couldn’t suppress my laughter:No one ever lies about the future.
Goddamn these legs; distracting earthquakes from their solemn duty.
The tourists take pictures. The tourists are never loved. funny faces, strange places, authentic is pathetic Middle class rebellion is sad, beaten donkeys.
My heart is infinite and when you go, you will have as much of it as you might ever enjoy. Though I will miss you, I will have known you from infinite travels across the maps of the heart. When I go, I will follow your exquisite cartography of human decency: each fine line to … Read moreInfinite Heart
the nooncooks appetitesaway,cold nightsturnlong days.how we forgetwhat was saidand happy linesare misread,until it is biterand disillusioned:admitted confusion.wicked tonguesthat let nothing freepin wicked desiresto pine trees,why can’t we just saywe only want to fuck,when the affectionsits down, stuck?these foolish symbolsmade from sounds,interpreted:the teeth of hounds,a biteor a bark.let it be dark,interpretation is an artthat revolvesoutside of … Read moreHeat Exhaustion
What shall become of the empty seconds of waiting? Those moments your name sits foolishly on my lips, when forests turn to desert, and spring finds the Tundra waiting for the moment to spill secrets into eternity, what shall become? How shall we see in the hours between the fantasies? Those moments the visions dance … Read morein between them
she wore panties that pretended disinterest, while i just pretended disinterest. we sat across from each other as I undressed her: your shoes, please, if you will. and now socks, tiny as they are. the pants, the shirt, the bra; but I couldn’t take the panties off. My imagination was not built for such delicate … Read morePretending Disinterest