death comes swiftly on graceful wings when words not spoken engulf and enrage; archangels and saints, temples and turf, we must allow ourselves a wide berth. ask not what it can do for you, but why you cannot do it yourself, man.
god bless america, land of thieves and cotton fields, time spent sunning, years leant, running, cancer yields veritable lines of stones, woven, yellow like the colour of my eyes these days, alcohol shades of patriotism, now red white and blue and brown our thoughts blur until a cigarette breath is exhaled, pull, a palace, face-full, temperate once, zinc, iron, disc drive, an alternate 1985, alive and dead and partially alive.
simple logistics, algorithms of sexual pleasure, the measure of my solitude;
these are a few of my favourite things.
sunset in mud, rainbow dope bud,
smoked clean and huddled between my thighs,
foreskin foresight, trembling outright,
st. matthew set me right,
through this torpid tantric totem,
flaccid feelings forced free.
crimson geodes of pale inner matter, crushed sinner, latter day saints, the tide of paints enter drawings of estimated counting, crawling and drawling a southern accented direction, wayward northern lights, you smoke them, i smoke them, an autumnal breeze of marijuana, a dry spell we can taste, arid summer, humid days, afternoons and mornings led by naps on carpets, the beached blunt bitch, the sour sass, things go slowly here, we are whole.
