["and still she dances, dances still."]

[katieblueeyes]

is it too late to speak of the autumn percussion winds,
of the thin-lipped queen who spat out vowels
and love poems
like a stranger's semen-
those months were webbed together in burnt sepia tones,
half-rotted and yet ripe with flesh and blood and sex

everyone has become a target,
a pin-cushion for my maggots
mere cardboard cut-outs of human
that brush my

Comments

[alixxcobain]

if i had an avenue to stalk, i'd know it as well as this beer. but instead it's bruises and blankets and bob dylan all the way.

that wasn't meant to sound so bad.

***
lalala

"ohhh i get it. he didn't wanna make it bad!"

this all makes sense. even if it doesn't. whatever. i'm (a) waste(ed).