kaija-eightyWhisper

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pow wow groundsthe lakewater near the banks darken with the shadows of coniferous trees / not unlike the way my ***** darkened just the other evening with transgression / and i find myself waiting,arcing the ash from my cigarette in fiery transient streaks.
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bulleti see technicolour but mostly violet / slopped across the walls in polygon inlays as / the bulb from above casts a glare across bare walls
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jurassic pukeomnipresent sick to my ******* stomach / dressed in mosquitoes that are woolen / like the lining of my english ******* and
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high altitudes and attitudeshigh altitudes and attitudes / my wooden altar is not a large one, yet it floats / above this mountain town in planks of rotting wood.
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volcanic glasslatin can not describe the electricityof blue veins suspended in cala lily skin. they fan out,protazoic, dormant beneath a sea of iced flesh.i grip the sink, peroxide strands of kelp washing upon the banks of my shoulders likethe white-gold sunshinethat would prism behind your chinook archwith all the beauty of a nuclear winter.for the transplant of my frontal lobeto the heaven above his stratus comforter, instructionshave been written. next time he is carried in on a foen wind i am toone, stand very stilltwo, present my brain to the skyand three,wait for the apricotsof sunrise to settleinto the overcast of his eyes.i practise a little and wish i had a veinous hum, skepticalthat an electrocardiogram could detect a beat.
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sun soaked bansheeswinter cuts skeletal fingers from black bark / we float beneath the blue vitriol of early february / the corpse of my sunglasses lay
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axis of a queenthe hi-fi plays solace to the / granular lobby upon the television screen; / as it flickers from camera angle to camera angle
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ghazal for kateversion 192924billion / a whitewashed fence looks orange beneath the lamplight and / i think she's beautiful, limpid on last autumn's leaves
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where kaija krakken creepsan ocean feather snuffs it in an alcove, to my leftjust another pair of lungs to expand and swill the seaand i wave curtly to the ***** on the next corner(nothing to see nothing to see) kindlingher shoulders against the lamp-post shelooks more like an angler than a good timeand paint by number peeling swips, lightning strikesupon her hips and the smoke machine pumps nicotinethrough out my veins, on the verge of somethingepicglitter lines the gutter with a sunless pulse all its ownand concrete currents sweep the ground beneath my feetas i exit the aphotic zone:ale stained blouses and hardened nipplesmake my artist type jealous beneath the soft neonsof the brickyard pizza sign the whirlpool opens with asureness of free beer to soften my mindand i've done this enough for the anxiety to subsideso i kick off these shoes and iDIVEinto a plethora of flannel jacketsand guys named 'steve'
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goodnight, americaat cocktail hour she rides her bike / over the colourful chalk bodies of her / neighbor's children with dust shrieking
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