7.14.2005

poetry is the fucktest.

....and i watch your glance.

whewww.....
interfacing with her visual cues.
in your mind, all romance.
in words:
crept across the bar,
(dead teeth of forgotten forests),
all your history at large,
filters of cheap pneumatic drug,
and all it is...
is the slavering praise
of a man caught cock-handed
and leering
into another hopeless night.

**
(if you try to hail me, be warned:
i'm in the forest until wednesday
[thursday at the latest]
otherwise i'm listening to sleater-kinney
at all serious volume.
so...
try calling louder....

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