[Response to ONE DAY, AT 4:36PM…]
Sometimes I wish for Steve. A day is a day in the sense that Steve is. Here I would like to speak: / / / Come on.
I think yellow blue a wheat field on a picture of scania. I think a rosary prayer and prayer and prayer in the throat. And surges and swallow and back / barriers can lie before fertilization. Brake pads. Break pads. Everlasting omen of what is [I permit you my fields].
Sometimes a day is just a day. Sometimes a night is a day.
This night belongs to your velvet. I am always a fan of lace. Histories, I mean. I will sew you a world. I will sew you a word. I will sew you a world of words. Mmm / / / / See
where the sky cracks open.
There is a mirror in the sky. When [the] silence ends [the] word begins. Name divine. Age twenty-five in the Bastille on a Thursday. Well
come [to the revolution]. Fluttering in a yellow bush. The color of
sun in summer. Stevian sonatas.
[Response to: this is what I’d like it to look like, mother.]
BAM!!! The New Year, so much to fear, so much to lose, much to gain. Be INSANE.
woooshhhh, FLIGHT, wooosh, bite
The crab whisked himself away, his year was over and lost in eyes, time to bake, be eaten and cry, for now is the time of the hermit shelled sponge, perhaps he will gain some insight, or perhaps just plunge :X
[Response to: Afternoon drapes]
[Response to: Noon drapes]
Barney’s tail draped. He hung upside down. They claimed to love him.
His fabric eyes like softballs thrown into round sweet pork buns. All he wanted was a bun.
Purple was the shine of life, and time ticked from noon drapes. If only he ate pears that morning.
Pear Sorbet. Frozen Pear. Pear turnover cake. Pear foster…Gluten Free? 1/4c. dark rum.
That is what 1:12pm needs rum.
Hand Pant flecks paint and the eyes. Those awful eyes. The children loved him.
The VHS unraveled
and raveled and tangled. Undone on the floor, covered in apple juice.
[respone to: why is it that part of me FEELS…]
Bottom of the Glass
[response to lamister Lady]
Not in my backyard.
[response to “My old Russian Carpet”]
Walking through the square I like to shake my carpet, remove the old leaves, dirty napkins, falafels and shoe strings, so that I can fold it back onto itself, southwest corner reversed under the northeast, my cell phone conversations doubled back into the atmospheric noise, your hand that is not your hand, her hand that never accepted the vegan cookie and laughed anyway, jungle gyms inverted into parabolas where we sat cradled, fire eaten prophalactics and half-a-day magicians and the League of Nations side by side in extra dimensional train cars in my closet.