and me still thinking I want to
fuck, Fuck,
Fuck! that man down in the city.
See he got a fine new job
fixing shitters
at some early retirement home.
Great.
Remember to send me a postcard
sometime


jungle feverI am wild. My skin is dark with mud: moss dreaded tightly into my hair. I am thick with the jungle and I can breathe her in. I've found a waterfall and pool after hunting along a stream for days. I strip down, curiously aware of my own body odor, and quickly replace the thought by the fresh peel of water splitting along my sides. It's cool [the way mint feels in the winter. guitar strings sliding in tune]jungle fever
but that's far away, now, i'm closer to a waterfall than anything else. So I slide myself onto the rocks and work my way under the falls. The water rushes over my ears. The sound shocking; I practically lose gravity.


grade school grammarIn grade school someone was trying to teach me grammar but during breakgrade school grammar
I attempted to break down a run on sentence of basketball Capitalization pass dribble and glide into his hand to pause just a second comma, then slam it back down period. But while attempting to bracket (the boy with the ball) he shoved an exclamat!on mark in my eye. I couldn't write poetry then because I didn't know what a similie was so my eye bled instead right through the last half of english. Now i still can't use a semi-colon; properly


corrosive fantasy II You catch me off guard - tall and strong, framed in the doorway - as I lay half covered along the spread of moonlight. I'm startled for a second by your entrance, but it's you, so I'm always half expecting you to show up at any time. The flash flood outside has left you soaked and wanting; rivulets of rain still run smoothly down your cheek.corrosive fantasy II
We stare at each other across the room, then, feeling through the heavy darkness between us, we move together in unison, finding each other at the foot of the bed. You embrace me, surround me, leaning


Red Hot NumbersAdam(aka Hollywood): Whispering roughly in my ear with handfuls of hair.Red Hot Numbers
Adam(aka Pogo): Diving into bushes with me in the neighbours lawn.
***
Dick: Naming me constallations, with eyes wide as any fawn.
Conner: That sweet Husk in his voice.
Chris: How his honesty is an intimate affair: scribbling secrets into margins.
Daniel: The way he smoothes down the hair just in front of his ears.
David: "Verily this is that Most Great Beauty, foretold in the Books of the Messengers"
***
Jaqcie: &


JustificationThe whisky was all horrible Had bits floating in it because I drank from the bottle after eating pizza when I got in at half three this morningJustification
It wasn't very nice so I thought I best finish it off


on lifeI. &on those Sunday mornings when I come fresh and smelling like my mother [;that thick almond like scent filled with white&flowers], you will know I need more than a self help book and two evenings alone; I need real hands touching & lovinglovinglovingon life
because life cannot be fixed with a do-it-yourself manual, a wrench and some rusted tools from deep within garages
II. Sometimes we call create stories so we can run out of breath sooner
III. You can smile, my day dream lover, &we can lea


God of the MachineWhen our spark nerves calm;God of the Machine
The night lingers cold with our breath marks hanging on clothwires that pop at times and shock us back from when we were children with bigger dreams and different fears about the world and how we touch
skin; no longer on [electrical] fire, feelings slow to fade and life gently slips back in, in riots and hidden thoughts we both feel closing in on eachother
Do you gasp from the sudden I_cannot_have_you,_but_ I_need_this_here_and_now [with fingers unsettled: lifting and letting go and pulli


spotlightswhatever it was, it was a good marketing ploy, this slick little infringement on a perpetually overcast sky. it skips stones across my irises as you throw the remote at the television, despairing over day after day of thick mollusk rain, and the steely light comes stalking in over the windowsill. i sit and stitch my hands together and your birdcaged anger leans out and catches me on the shoulder, and suddenly, this room like an empty teacup groans awake with your sick fervor, your whiskey arguments, your battleship tongue. the china slips greasilyspotlights
--
but the moment never ceased....
--
"Only when the last tree has died and the last river has been poisoned and the last fish has been caught will we realize that we can't eat money."
"I'm carrying the fire."
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