I fell awkward
abort the whole thing
Saturday, June 30, 2012
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
When I was young I used to sleep and wake up again. Sheets would glow between sun and me, but then there was a delay. Pause. It was enough.
Radiohead played, and it’s complicated. The relationships, they are complicated.
A riff. Okay, just one day. It was the best of funerals. White, as Greene would have put it.
And I was sixteen. They only love you when.
Don’t you think I, at least, deserve an explanation?
I wore an X on my hand. And red over my mouth.
We fucked against the urinals in Masquerade until the band died away.
So I could never figure exactly how again.
I can only you like image, like without a voice.
Like no doubt you’re female, but faint isn’t the sound.
Beat. You trace walls like mohawks , like. And turbulence.
Fingerings like waterfalls.
Stalking steps and platform cogs.
Beat. Snaps. Beat.
Gyrospheres of clothing tiers, like around ankles: really, really small.
When away, that little string between dissipates,
amnesia, like a stroke, one-sided
happily dancing on the gravy train
gold-digging-whores do it best.