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"adhesion" poems
Another misfire for heaven's weapon threaten lesson second session another confession of deception we are headed toward armageddon truth seeking and eating reason demon sleeping will get even secret leaking ****** heathen unsweetened creeping deepened lesion from the freedom legion eden eaten and not breathing region of the code adhesion needed beacon beaten defeated
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Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 3:54 PM UTC
Heaven's Weapon
~for Pradip~ *these words, a blessing bestowed upon me, by you, about us say kiss me write love me for all the contextual hints that lie within and between them ~ "gloriously adhesive" a monument to our five years of living together, the friction of our grip upon each other, under one roof, in a land of no matter what the language, what the alphabet, we are the prime, a living example, of the human~poem,** our glorious adhesion! <•> from only love poetry, I rename you here, only love Pradip 8/25/17 6:40PM
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Aug 25, 2017
Aug 25, 2017 at 6:51 PM UTC
For Pradip: A Glorious Adhesive -
when you love, you’re a country, pierced by daily border exchanged crossings, to your closest neighbor and though, one rerun~returns home by night, to your prior defining borderlines, somehow the externals of the container has had its internality's modified for the lines that prior defined have altered by passing the point of prior, now by thousands of tiny holes breaching the thickened protective lining, by love punches ‘n kisses of pinprick punctures the resistance, pulverized <> you are changed, new language combos spoken, embrace another with a bilingual tonguing, a real treat to entreat each other and that hyphen, that little tiny linear ~ punctuation mark is reflecting your creativity of a Singular Duality it is mark that speaks to a new U~no individuality, blended and connected somehow a duo of someone’s pulverized lines forms a single stronger chord first a puncture then a patching finally an adhesion pleasuring and a new working word: composite the opposite of opposite*
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Nov 14, 2024
Nov 14, 2024 at 7:26 AM UTC
The Pulverized Line (the opposite)
i’m the man who’s gonna wake up next to you slipping away, a non-starter, her leg crosses over mine, a right sided shakedown shackle, adhesion flesh as tough as old yellowed scotch tape sticking stuck no escaping, a known 6:00am risk when you sleep with a pre-advertised holy roller, twist and turner woman, making you into an unofficial woe-man (too) left hand grabs the lamenting instrument, the beat up iPad, to record your enslavement, a distraction from the bladder’s faint morn winking at you with a Cheshire grin, muffling a chuckle, at a predicament wonderful familiar, but unresolvable this situation, a category of life’s small measure of annoyances, invokes the wordy title, and a write-down list of pluses and minuses, which I’ll spare which o’witch be the longer list poems are where you find them, under your nose, looking out a city bus window, but sometimes like flypaper, they just come unasked and stick to you, the separating of the skin, like a too tight bandaid, ain’t worth the pain and freedom gained later, share this missive and her suggestion, she will prepare an NDA (a non-disclosure agreement)  or adopt other strategies like pushing me out of the bed without warning when i am typing , to witch and to wit, reply, ah! another poem commissioned, and *perhaps, name change too, needed, making love in the morning* 12/14/19
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Dec 14, 2019
Dec 14, 2019 at 1:40 PM UTC
i’m the man who’s gonna wake up next to you
Glue comes out too fast But not at the right angle Adhesion unburdened Learned it From living just second-by-second Was the reason ever reckoned? I don't remember. It was in late December When I opened my eyes Covered in glue Still not dry, realizing: The glue comes out too fast And never seems to last.
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Jul 7, 2013
Jul 7, 2013 at 9:23 PM UTC
Glue
1040 Not so the infinite Relations—Below Division is Adhesion’s forfeit—On High Affliction but a Speculation—And Woe A Fallacy, a Figment, We knew—
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1.5k
Not so the infinite Relations—Below
I meant the Well, what did I mean? I wanna say climbing, hanging from the harness But was that really all that scary? No. That, that was. Without a rope or companion. But even that, I hesitate to dub "the scarriest moment" What was, then? So many times come to mind. But they weren't frightening because of my height the expanse of air between me and the flat ground But the depth The lowliness of it all. That's when I truly scared myself Scared her too And him, the old friend who TELLS ME TO WRITE. But not him. No, he was on a mission. A mission to be numb. Numb from true feeling. But then there were those times when I know he felt knew he felt that sky-opening light-flooding sparkle-sprinkling "Ah" awe love I cannot think otherwise I cannot doubt it That would send me into a frenzy Why? Because I'm still her I am that same girl A string of memories, L asked? More than that, I insisted. Then what, B inquired? Something that lasts The soul Soul? ... L, again. Yeah! So the solution to the problem is another problem. I can't deny those moments That would mean denying myself My soul Wilde teaches. And so I don't But maybe I travel too far in the other direction Maybe I'm not quite as 'same' as I purport myself to be But I can't let that drive nonetheless work to impede the work I must accomplish stifling it, that is what I ought to do in this case. because otherwise I find myself lingering on those thoughts and clinging to the sheets It's not even about that infantile comfort anymore. Well, maybe a little But no, the thoughts are too prevalent now They weren't back then I mean they weren't They be'd not So my adhesion to these same old sabanas Is sourced in different stuff now Before it was more mist but now it's true fluff thicker than that though like real cotton more than the candy kind So the battle's tougher now 'sall Not one I must cease to fight But rather I must struggle That much more That much harder Because the knowledge won't stop flowing in Incessant, unstoppable Unless I decide to end it all. But even then, maybe it'd keep striking me in the face And if not, who would want to lose it anyway?
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Apr 26, 2013
Apr 26, 2013 at 6:48 PM UTC
the thread through it all
I meant the Well, what did I mean? I wanna say climbing, hanging from the harness But was that really all that scary? No. That, that was. Without a rope or companion. But even that, I hesitate to dub "the scarriest moment" What was, then? So many times come to mind. But they weren't frightening because of my height the expanse of air between me and the flat ground But the depth The lowliness of it all. That's when I truly scared myself Scared her too And him, the old friend who TELLS ME TO WRITE. But not him. No, he was on a mission. A mission to be numb. Numb from true feeling. But then there were those times when I know he felt knew he felt that sky-opening light-flooding sparkle-sprinkling "Ah" awe love I cannot think otherwise I cannot doubt it That would send me into a frenzy Why? Because I'm still her I am that same girl A string of memories, L asked? More than that, I insisted. Then what, B inquired? Something that lasts The soul Soul? ... L, again. Yeah! So the solution to the problem is another problem. I can't deny those moments That would mean denying myself My soul Wilde teaches. And so I don't But maybe I travel too far in the other direction Maybe I'm not quite as 'same' as I purport myself to be But I can't let that drive nonetheless work to impede the work I must accomplish stifling it, that is what I ought to do in this case. because otherwise I find myself lingering on those thoughts and clinging to the sheets It's not even about that infantile comfort anymore. Well, maybe a little But no, the thoughts are too prevalent now They weren't back then I mean they weren't They be'd not So my adhesion to these same old sabanas Is sourced in different stuff now Before it was more mist but now it's true fluff thicker than that though like real cotton more than the candy kind So the battle's tougher now 'sall Not one I must cease to fight But rather I must struggle That much more That much harder Because the knowledge won't stop flowing in Incessant, unstoppable Unless I decide to end it all. But even then, maybe it'd keep striking me in the face And if not, who would want to lose it anyway?
Continue reading...
91
You paddled in my physics Accelerating my universe I was ****** into your black hole My sanity dispersed (C) Pixievic 2016
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Feb 16, 2016
Feb 16, 2016 at 1:47 PM UTC
Adhesion
july 16 2011 the air stuck to my skin, clinging for life, grasping for adhesion. the cool, night air making minuscule mountains rise all across my arms. we were far from alone, yet all i could possibly be aware of was you. feeling my head roll back onto the tweed, orange sofa, i looked up through the roof windows of the teepee. i began to count and trace the stars, only to steady my rapid heartbeat and abrupt breathing. the breeze picks up and suddenly penetrates deep into my core, sending out waves of shudders throughout my entire body. shaking like a dandelion in a windstorm, you invite me closer and closer, you can see the look of hesitation in my eye, you understand it; you feel it too. ignoring your instincts, you envelop my frigid torso in your warm, big arms. finally settling in, the others begin to disperse, one by one, until only we remained. the beauty of this mid-july night was apparent, and, all tucked away, we laid there for hours listening intently to the bullfrogs, to the crickets, to the sound of the waves from the small lake kissing the shore, to the cool breeze mingling with the sweet warm summer air. the morning crept along and we pulled each other in and out of the haze we created. in the morning, it was cold again, but i got only your jacket and a hushed "don't tell".
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Jul 7, 2013
Jul 7, 2013 at 12:44 AM UTC
july 7 12:29 am
Leave it to him to go and uproot the gradually established foundation, with a mere declaration of inclination, (ah, these new sensations) that was everything I thought I knew about *** and my anticipated participation in it. I was confident and comfortable, I admit it, to settling warm and boring in the list of 'never been horny'. Never adorning to the glory of the morning after where pillows and sheets are shared with spoonings and sweet nothings and laughter, and oh, how I care to finally share with him places inside myself I've never dared let come to light before—this sensation entirely new and rare and candidly honest. To be fair, it isn't easy for me to express, and oh how I would attest to the best way to attain truth and satisfaction, for it's a rickety bridge to cross when I've claimed I can't experience ****** attraction. But my darling whatever it is you've awakened demands I take action because I am listening to the hum of desire and with it feel the roasting of my ***** in that brand new fire like the Renaissance and a brightening sky at dawn. It's withdrawn, but symbolic and poised, like the flight of a dove. After all, isn't there a reason they call it Making Love? All other romantic pursuits forgone, You’ve thus far managed to do the unthinkable; you turn me on and I can feel the lust searing from the inside, out, while I'm hearing your revering and circumstance prevents me to doubt that this hedonistic dream I'm fearing has been nearing me in an ambush that began with September thirteen— an exciting, hazardous route down a path of love and a cornucopia of potential yet to be seen. I love you not as a passing season or a fleeting whim; I love you terribly and without practical reason; your name glued to my heart with toxic adhesion; a world without you now proves pretty dim And the *** part— Life is intimate and if I'm going to be, too, it'll be with him.
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Nov 2, 2013
Nov 2, 2013 at 3:13 AM UTC
With Him
Leave it to him to go and uproot the gradually established foundation, with a mere declaration of inclination, (ah, these new sensations) that was everything I thought I knew about *** and my anticipated participation in it. I was confident and comfortable, I admit it, to settling warm and boring in the list of 'never been horny'. Never adorning to the glory of the morning after where pillows and sheets are shared with spoonings and sweet nothings and laughter, and oh, how I care to finally share with him places inside myself I've never dared let come to light before—this sensation entirely new and rare and candidly honest. To be fair, it isn't easy for me to express, and oh how I would attest to the best way to attain truth and satisfaction, for it's a rickety bridge to cross when I've claimed I can't experience ****** attraction. But my darling whatever it is you've awakened demands I take action because I am listening to the hum of desire and with it feel the roasting of my ***** in that brand new fire like the Renaissance and a brightening sky at dawn. It's withdrawn, but symbolic and poised, like the flight of a dove. After all, isn't there a reason they call it Making Love? All other romantic pursuits forgone, You’ve thus far managed to do the unthinkable; you turn me on and I can feel the lust searing from the inside, out, while I'm hearing your revering and circumstance prevents me to doubt that this hedonistic dream I'm fearing has been nearing me in an ambush that began with September thirteen— an exciting, hazardous route down a path of love and a cornucopia of potential yet to be seen. I love you not as a passing season or a fleeting whim; I love you terribly and without practical reason; your name glued to my heart with toxic adhesion; a world without you now proves pretty dim And the *** part— Life is intimate and if I'm going to be, too, it'll be with him.
Continue reading...
42
a martian is heathen that deflects abortion with his artifice of adhesion let superfluous his connection inside a world that always reeling from monoxide now trigger of superior intelligence to defray sequence of inhabitant.
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Sep 7, 2017
Sep 7, 2017 at 6:49 AM UTC
Helix
Neither one of us is brand new. We both been dropped, broken, and shattered a time or 2wo. But what gives me hope the most is the fact that I stick to you. Just a reflection of loveless neglection... figured you stick it through.. But then you found then you found your glue. And i found my heart... You found out it was in pieces and it was missing a part. The irony of it all is yours heart's in worst condition. That's when i learned my mission. You mend a broken heart and your healing has just begun. So it's best to love love and crackle under the sun. But all in all im glad i found you. Im glad you found me and im you had glue... Adhesion...
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Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 3:18 AM UTC
Adhesion
That's how you break it now you are alone and I am alone but that doesn't make us of each other the universe, starry night, from the ringside view of a puff rising; let it rain, for I must not get wet out in the fury, I've lost all adhesion hymns of nightbirds rend the sky this lonely hour
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Dec 25, 2017
Dec 25, 2017 at 12:35 PM UTC
Losing Adhesion
I didn't know if pulling it from the wreckage would feel as good the second time around. I dragged it shoulders first and it felt heavier and damp and the body gave and lurched forward, unarmed and broken like trash strewn across the road slick with black wetness and silent like a ranger at quiet sea. Make Space between our bodies, it once told me, and find the dirt in the cracks on the ceiling of what used to be a brand new home. (Greasy handprints on white plaster never stay invisible forever.) For without Space there is no silence, just the deafening explosion of skin slapping skin slapping across bone crashing into knees connecting joints at the sticky side of muscled electric adhesion; breathing becomes mutual, then stops.
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Mar 1, 2015
Mar 1, 2015 at 11:00 PM UTC
From The Wreckage
He showed up, un announced, and threw down his rake. He shrieked, "Where's my money!?" pause "I wantnaw it Nowon!" Easy,easy. Not worth It. Voice s in my head whisper/dance excuse. Oh! A rock painted red, plastered to my hand, fell with Finality. Gathp What have I done pause I Need to Hide it! Disgust. Animal. Fabulous I Cage d Locked Halp. They whisper still. so? I fantasize about it sometimes... Hiding in My room, terror de murderer "I heard the Thuds" pause "But I could Not move.." Gentle, now. Adhesion applications serve best on 1 try. I lost count. Row! Time, dropped the ball, most a dem What waste..Tears..mine? It just no, "We are here always" pause "It is all an illusion?" The man, this man, was/ is not worthy. His brain Melts. Now Listen
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Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 8:30 PM UTC
Voices
adhesion of water on the glass in the car it feels foreign maybe delusional is the mind to think and think constantly stare at it longingly then it will be undone as bare the body as bold the head i rub in circles try and try the melancholic hums to no avail it numbs not the left hand nor is the right hand thus the chest screams in silence round and round the wheels of the car travel the echo to an empty space there is no instance to mask the lines on the skin
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Jun 21, 2017
Jun 21, 2017 at 6:02 PM UTC
how do you cleanse
Riding The color Wheel From Liftoff To splashdown Onyx Eyelids Heavy with rheum Waking to Laminated Stick-ons A vinyl ocean Of unco adhesion And snap vacuum Jettisoned Trinkets Of youth Soaring Prophetically Overhead Acquiescing As scenes Of upended worlds The simple playgrounds Both remembered And loved
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Sep 3, 2020
Sep 3, 2020 at 10:56 AM UTC
Colorforms
The lizard made its way straight up the rock wall Such adhesion on those rocks with his fragile-looking claws What was he running from, or to, with such desert dignity What would you call the motions of these little creatures Bodies moving back and forth like other slithering reptiles Fascinating.... Brian Hill - 2019 # 251
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Oct 8, 2019
Oct 8, 2019 at 9:46 AM UTC
Mr. Lizard
My hands trace your skin, miles last only seconds. Bursting from each pore, Intoxicating aromatics beckon. A reckoning, a realization. Longing for completion, I’m a traveler on the estuaries of your canvas Each stroke an adhesion With every breath, a confession Time ceases, you— my obsession. Our bodies sealed eternally, An enthralling finale.
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Jan 20, 2025
Jan 20, 2025 at 5:51 PM UTC
Eternity with You
it's no good and it's no use when my expressions of love are perceived as abuse of liberty and the right to decline but you don't understand you can be only mine you told me so and reassured that our time would come and our future assured now i see that i was mislead you killed what's inside soon one will be dead there's no path left to take from this protracted anthesis nothing left to break only ill-fitting pieces as i scrabble to gather them i know it's no use the adhesion is lost and can't be reproduced
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May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 12:39 PM UTC
'it's no use'
i’ve always believed hugs to be warm until you refused to meet my eye and everything about you read regret. we wanted to forget so we hugged, but the hug itself was made out of apologies spoken from quivering lips, raw throats throbbing from all the screaming, and shameful gazes hung above wet cheeks. our last hug ached when we tore apart. it ached because it knew as much as we’d like for the adhesion to last, no amount of layers we apply to the cracks will be enough to keep us together. i used to always find warmth in your hugs, but our last hug was ice cold.
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Jan 1, 2018
Jan 1, 2018 at 10:18 PM UTC
warm hugs
There are those.... undeniable Seemingly certifiable Times .... When disengaged gears ...secronize And suddenly .... Forward progress begins Where static emulations Stood frozen Victims of their own Disillusioned apprehension Poised to leap into oblivion Unchosen Dictum setting the tone Disavowing any or all ascension Unsatisfied with acceptance Of a painful intrusion Though an invitation sent Brought forth the conclusion No ease forthwith the value In hasty blind bluff dare To not fail the saving echo That's  emoting  absolution Swirling like cotton candy As it gathers around the core Growing larger and grander Born of sweetness in motion Acceptance and adhesion True poetry of love and more Honest vision honored candor Balanced faith and shared devotion Fated to be elevated At that very second That very moment When all hope fades And if not missed Always seen as a ghost Dismissed as a mirage When needed the most So I'm glad I listen to the wind Stepping aside , never in !
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Sep 11, 2017
Sep 11, 2017 at 10:34 PM UTC
Pull it back shut
Glancing at an open entrance, there’s was a second chance at a captivating magic of you. Hypnotized, Fascinated, Mesmerized and transfixed of a grip.. The grip of your energy of intensity, and heartfelt with fiery, that wild’s me with passion of excitement. Startle by your daze, pondering, your impression of your divine tenderness affection. Weakling of your soft but roaring laughter. Setting aside the essence instincts of your humming tune of delicate communications. Daydreaming of this remedy. So tranquilize over my subdues. Given an utmost twofold of adhesion connection, within a distance from your easily broken smirk. Despair of forcibly but yet so inseparably into shattered pieces. Humbling over mumbling over of an insincere anguish of helpless ungiving devotedness. For a split second of emeralds of unexplained chances. Reminiscing the unfenced of enchanting entryway of how the encountering the beauty of you.
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Jul 2, 2018
Jul 2, 2018 at 1:22 PM UTC
Second Chance at Magic
Beginning the movement, catches my eye amidst dead leaves in perplexing folly yet imagined many times before; in between reality and fantastical imagery conjured from a contemplative journey. Awake! Riding beside the troupe blowing and skimming with a twirl of gaiety and precision, colorful pinwheels taunting beneath a synchronized sequence bequeathed with unknown passage and certain conclusion. The wind becomes a partner that carries them like a beige velvet flying carpet, dancing to a silent orchestra intention; meandering to a landing pattern meant to rejuvenate yet another design. They have no destination which is odd. Somehow they are both aware of the vaporous soup filled with magnificent color and lines and nary a thought about where to go; it musn’t be plied for satisfaction. The mirth of it all! Acting as if there was control over their trip and showing off in a bodacious manner, the pile snaked and flicked its lightening colored tongue along the gray bespeckled pavement. Reciprocation came while the observant outfitted a seat on a similar trolly, arriving by the far sea of imagination. We are twisted together and unfurled in a maniacal gavotte of sensuous interpretation, transporting us along a path of wafting field grass and bubble-wrapped white pillows of cloud; static except edgeless. How can this be? We believed we set on foot for arrival only to chuckle later that we have never manifested an anchor of adhesion; understanding that we are perpetual and stirred with a never-ending abundance of transcendence. Not farther away, not closer to anticipation. Centered in a profusion of ideas and symbiotic embrace; we are wrapped in cavernous layers of gradient billowing fabric that becomes what we see behind our closed eyes. It is never the same… Once considered turbulence we now know is a replete carriage of weightless feathering, delivering dreams with unexpected alacrity and reassurance. Now that theatrical scene before me has relevance and authenticity unto itself and my own participation. My attention has been captured and granted free access whenever desired.
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Dec 30, 2017
Dec 30, 2017 at 4:26 PM UTC
Turbulence
Beginning the movement, catches my eye amidst dead leaves in perplexing folly yet imagined many times before; in between reality and fantastical imagery conjured from a contemplative journey. Awake! Riding beside the troupe blowing and skimming with a twirl of gaiety and precision, colorful pinwheels taunting beneath a synchronized sequence bequeathed with unknown passage and certain conclusion. The wind becomes a partner that carries them like a beige velvet flying carpet, dancing to a silent orchestra intention; meandering to a landing pattern meant to rejuvenate yet another design. They have no destination which is odd. Somehow they are both aware of the vaporous soup filled with magnificent color and lines and nary a thought about where to go; it musn’t be plied for satisfaction. The mirth of it all! Acting as if there was control over their trip and showing off in a bodacious manner, the pile snaked and flicked its lightening colored tongue along the gray bespeckled pavement. Reciprocation came while the observant outfitted a seat on a similar trolly, arriving by the far sea of imagination. We are twisted together and unfurled in a maniacal gavotte of sensuous interpretation, transporting us along a path of wafting field grass and bubble-wrapped white pillows of cloud; static except edgeless. How can this be? We believed we set on foot for arrival only to chuckle later that we have never manifested an anchor of adhesion; understanding that we are perpetual and stirred with a never-ending abundance of transcendence. Not farther away, not closer to anticipation. Centered in a profusion of ideas and symbiotic embrace; we are wrapped in cavernous layers of gradient billowing fabric that becomes what we see behind our closed eyes. It is never the same… Once considered turbulence we now know is a replete carriage of weightless feathering, delivering dreams with unexpected alacrity and reassurance. Now that theatrical scene before me has relevance and authenticity unto itself and my own participation. My attention has been captured and granted free access whenever desired.
Continue reading...
10
There is romance found in ingratiation, in these chaste doilies, suffering implicitly beneath the burden of ***** bowls. Here’s one, illuminated as a pinball machine when you rattle that dung-brown stain about its shrivelled pupil. Above it, a cataract of steam squirms about in unalarming routine. So many nights I adulterated merely for lack of better days were given credence by the gimpy sun, turned away with its blouse undone, and ****** back to the chalkboard. Somewhere along the past few days I must have become bedridden, indentured to prickly sponge baths by that ****** tongue. How I’d like to stay sedated now. Another day of inoculation becomes an alibi for the adhesion of this numbness inducted to the soft-boiled meat of my temples, combing out my shoulder blades, running down my legs... Stupidly, I almost feel a sense of superiority in not learning any faces among the indiscrete convoys of whitish heads popping in now and then, with the subordinate arousal of stiff knuckles, or other things compressed inward by their own come-hither fervor. “You talk too much, you worry me to death…”
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May 25, 2025
May 25, 2025 at 10:09 PM UTC
Clean is a Doing word