Thursday, April 29, 2010
there are words voluptuous as the flesh. thus my sisters were a tangling of articulations. there is that in love. for love, facing away from me, pointing a gun, is an act of self-undoing. lust of intentional indifference. the fall of feet knocking ferocious. i won't escape this conversation. this is your new name, convict. a form of otherwise vicious habit. there will be a day to find ourselves riding a crazy book. morning, midnight, i asked you to want. we were all swimming. i would've gone long ago into that final image. yet, i imagine you believe, announcing a new millennium provokes fear in the viewer.