I have observed, the theorist I am
Yes I am guilty, I’m guilty. A sin was desirable then. Bring the dancer back to the stalks.
Even as the sun warms the concrete the long nights’ sensual cold lingers in my clothes.
I’msorry I‘ll see what happens iLife
The two of us toast to a man we both love, to whatever degree, clink our glasses and laugh…
I imagine that undressing a color, though, would be so much like peeling a memory away from the grey and the white matter of your brain.
Try not to see your own predicament in every fucking thing.
I myself should never have been born
I like to think I’m also sprung, released from the furnace knocks, done with the heavy meat stews and salty soups.
Now that the Israeli has left, it falls on me to make the salad.
Winter sat like a wolf on the horizon.
I am not a guide for every traveler of loss.
I am still waiting for the lion
He has stories that I am not in anymore. It’s healed this way.
the man is stayed bent over the canvas of my sofa. the man is me the man is him self and I bring down the whip…
the strands of your hair on the bathroom tiles aren’t sketching defeat. that’s you spitting disease in the face with another day you’ve woken up to.
You said it was okay to blame what goes wrong on the planet
four-thirty a.m.
My grandmother asked, “Does it feel like being widowed?”
I suffer visions and many indignities while looking for the Lobster