screaming at low volumes
She hides her hang-ups behind unspoken regularities: Lights off, T-Shirt on, Panties on. Occasionally she loses herself in a rare moment of passion – Burning bright, twisting pleasure into knots – her hang-ups are gone. Those moments are why I bother: to have the sun enwrap you! Who wouldn’t – even if it’s so rare?
This terminal illness of love;its unbearable weight upon my back,its fangs upon my heart…I pray only for entranceinto your kingdomwhere I know devotion is devouredin appetizing first courses.I will go too soon, I know,but it is no use to fightas the lion holds a tenuous agreementwith all of mankind,that its victims will beat the whim … Read moreWhims
There’s a day coming where there will be a reckoning, There’s a night upon us where there will be a judgement it’s a time for celebration under these dire, hot fires where my heart is outside and my throat has been cut. Those stars hang below us, and this ground above our heads makes for … Read morehold on, it’s almost here
oh sweet lights in the sky come & play – you & I we’ll dance & we’ll roll we can refuse life’s toll Oh beautiful night dreams let me feel just what love means. let us go into the fields to die, oh sweet stars, you & I.
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.
How small we were when the heavens saw us first; clamoring for love, gripping with tiny fists onto that last vestige of knowing. And now, smaller still, we cry to the emptiness that has stolen the contents of our once noble hearts: “Give back that purpose that we knew when we were small!” In our … Read morehow small we were
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.