brief landings never fool me my thoughts are made of tornadoes and I know the mind will never sit… “where the heart is” is the name of a bullshit map
notebooks have been stacked in pre… filled with short stories bad drawings and of course
decorated in soft skin vines of fire drape around her fireproof face my eyes kneel in worship of a goddess passing by
tears glisten like distant stars unreachable galaxies alone in the quiet of space dead planets remind him of his gra…
the friction ridges on his fingers are different than most where there are usually arches there are the shapes of broken hea… and laughing faces
the blade has always been dull how it was made never
the Allen Bradley Tower clock looks at me like an all knowing ey… it tells me “you are home you were not born here
i was born in a basket of apples out of place from the start always berated by questions like “where is your stem?” “why are you so round?”
every song smoking drinking partying with
no matter how damned everything is i keep a flower in my coffin to remind myself that the sun still offers me something
Charles with his typewriter and bottles a bluebird held hostage in his hea… all the women he wanted all the jobs he didn’t
that is another man’s suicide if i kill myself there will be hookers
some nights I talk to them because i have no pets and i am alone i make promises “tomorrow we will go for a walk”
where every man has gone before and i don’t think i’ll be too far… but still it’s too bad that we couldn’t make… it’s too bad that we ever fell fro…
she loved him before when life was a game he played and she loves him still
