the kissing dogs are gone, sleeping long, chasing fancy in their fog
curious, a girl with a pocket of amaranth
always fresh rain on her lapel and neck
and eyes that become fixed and smaller in pleasure
an image that remains un-graven in memory, a mystery still,
like a candle stolen from a windowsill
sitting at a bar, drinking ***** with lime
seeing people i know, yet alone in rhyme
"this is how it’s going to be", said the picture of j. edgar hoover
"i’m burning you, feeding the furnace in your belly.
'you'll meet the devil if you haven't already'”, said the *****
"it will all sour, everything. get a taste and die
knowing one heaven”, said the lime
"you want to melt. the heat of your desperation touches me. you want to become a lone liquid and disperse into the clouds.
you think you can travel the world that way, maybe be tossed around
in the clear tide near fiji. but you won’t, look at me”,
said the ice in the glass.
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 3:20 AM UTC
the kissing dogs are gone, sleeping long, chasing fancy in their fog
curious, a girl with a pocket of amaranth
always fresh rain on her lapel and neck
and eyes that become fixed and smaller in pleasure
an image that remains un-graven in memory, a mystery still,
like a candle stolen from a windowsill
sitting at a bar, drinking ***** with lime
seeing people i know, yet alone in rhyme
"this is how it’s going to be", said the picture of j. edgar hoover
"i’m burning you, feeding the furnace in your belly.
'you'll meet the devil if you haven't already'”, said the *****
"it will all sour, everything. get a taste and die
knowing one heaven”, said the lime
"you want to melt. the heat of your desperation touches me. you want to become a lone liquid and disperse into the clouds.
you think you can travel the world that way, maybe be tossed around
in the clear tide near fiji. but you won’t, look at me”,
said the ice in the glass.
