you're around. Good enough to know.

--
Breaking entering
The dark and lonely places
Finding a big gun

the flame that tingles on the arms,
reddening them like a bastard autumn,

is the sexless daughter of the hangman-hope
that tingles where the heart & the optic nerves
meet

Not lately. My dreams these days consist mostly of edible eyebrows in a never-fail, mint-crisp flavour. There's enough blue around to eclipse the good will of pie, but never enough mint to clear the stench. But, why? Is there an elaborate still-life in the works?

ಠ_ಠ

i am stretching in a cocoon. had a long conversation with you in a dream last week, and we were drinking those burning shots (you kept saying the flame wasted perfectly good fumes, and then bukowski wrote a poem for you. then he punched a reporter, and we all re-painted the bar because it was too cheerful, and butterflies kept flying in).

--
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