something's touching the air- the stale smell of people's thoughts and the strength of a roomful of people exhaling their sour coffee breath into the room in unison, like something orchestrated. i want to strangle everything that's keeping me stuck sitting on this bone-numbing chair. but i wait. patiently. oh, the energy you exert in keeping your word. a small set of bricks in your foundation. i'd rather focus on other portions of you. the eagerness of your tongue probing my lips. reminiscing on what has left me too sore to sit... how hard you had to love me to quiet my pleas.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
on the one empty plot of vacant, grassy land located on the hill, someone left a couch. this couch has been locked behind the property's gate for months. during a recent excursion, we discovered the ghost-like mirage of a body. made of chicken wire, yet seamless.
yet another job well done.
Cats' food didn't come out of a can and it was nothing but the best fish - Pt Perpendicular, c 1936 / by Mrs Tulk
Saturday, April 25, 2009
so i stare at that rumbling mess under your shirt, convinced that if we were all sitting here without shirts, we'd be sure to sit a little more erect... put a bit more emphasis the rolls of our waists as opposed to the cinnamon roll you're stuffing your face with.
i drool when i'm staring at the screen for too long, too.