from the couldn't write to the couldn't sleep almost questioned the revenge from the read to have the crumbled skin kiss the red the lost bitten nails got teared and fed pastel in capital letters on sand the cruel wave washes in no clock hand an orange flee for your life leave a trail to follow and strive
shirtless screaming through the heartland and I used to smoke cigarettes too.
she never wanted to stay: the youth she had left demanded it. now, I'll wager she's somewhere in an apartment with some dandy that wears sweater vests to Thanksgiving dinner.
maybe she thinks about me and my little twisted heart every now and again: like when she's away from the sweater vest on the toilet behind a locked door, "be right out, babe!" or toting groceries through a parking lot to her car, or signaling a left turn before changing her mind and deciding to go straight instead.
and maybe I need to stop thinking about her especially after three years incommunicado
but what can I say? I've never slept on a bed of nails I couldn't dream on.
The pendulum is a bull shark. The hour of the savior is a pregnant bride's swan dive into the water. The mighty mile is a figure 8 in the scoot of non slop socks across the bare linoleum. Blood and bright are the redness of the blanket. divine terror at one hart beat per hour. Finger nails green and black against a back drop of the brightest, bluest eyes you've ever seen; deep pools of liquid light that will shine when least expected. And the obligation isn't one at all, for when i breath in, you breath out. And when I gave consent 1000 years ago times 10- you performed the exorcism under the shroud of my amnesia and the spotted light from a crystal disco ball. Shards of light moved upon the face of all the space between the stars. My heart was in the highlands but now its in your hands.