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Friday, August 05, 2005 are
these not what. not how for now. they will become or they won't. it's a walk around. plainly put farther. more a license to suit that new one. were these what the name keeps. except the day in the district. these fallen in pairs. these regular disappointments. a studio with a lease and a synopsis. quenched
for example by a doorbell. hard to think of an answer when the nurse asks what it was. you danced like a whole world for awhile. ask me another green sweetness. i'll have more answers than facts. turned by evening into a tequila worm weren't you. there. when just one bell might have cast you out to a better hand. Thursday, August 04, 2005 hard
to tell one's greatest black & white story. converging on the narrow bound of her listening then turning. the kites you see were lighting up that morning he had promised and failed. so typically obscure in the lamplight. hard to tell the rumors like udders. or fresh picked corn. gone so near the pastoral there's no turning back. unless you want turning back. she is always listening and marking yes no. even with her eyes or the tilt of her head. toward light. or while he turns himself inside out for an active love life. love life you see. the key for turning any story into any idea you get. still difficult to say what happens that so easy morning with transport shutting down & masses huddling outside his door for a light nudge to work. it ends as an early case of plotting without cunning or any unkind notion. one writes the story to the inevitable point. bug
on me. there's a bug on me without a bite of me. or i knew it and i knew it the bug on me goes about liking me goes for happiness. not
song enough to breathe. not shimmer to grovel. not blank enough for light's good trance. not hook. not muddled adventure. not book enough to serve. not in your long stretch. not for parting mystic. out
of iron for the doing for now. as cotton will do you. think i'm the target in a world. where nobody's shooting thoughtful but pouting over the edges. still i get to bleed from the finger- strings making. mistakes for free. they land in my right foot's. my number six and seven best fantasies. one for talking over you about their sudden assaults. the rapid irruption of seems to be. just making words go just making them go on unlikely as takes
us away from this central concern. as if abe's got a crease where he seems to be evil. bought it for ages. still bought. and still smells like museum pig. we whittled for wishing into a tiny true censor. he got our half-comical rhubarb furiously booked up. he blind the stout the strange the straggling waif. he tease a red length out like a tongue to fleece. as we were saying. trembling out a natural history. Wednesday, August 03, 2005 finder
in ashes. in horizons gone white. a design runs through warlike figurines. they had blue fingers and godlike grime. dance the way the center goes. of fire. Tuesday, August 02, 2005 so
the only describes an absorption. my factor trembling in what they call a huge universe. in arabia these nettles are priceless. so the only takes one and then another. i've got small ones in finicky lace talking about something out in the actual world. where games go on factual as sweat then bring some light in here for dreaming. Sunday, July 31, 2005 that
to have fallen makes me precious and aloof as an open window i was being serious when you broke in broke wind broke my concentration made of spun sugar i'm fingers of domestic ectoplasm just a fallen spookiness calling all god to come tell the talk show it wholly harmless here Saturday, July 30, 2005 time
to reason what happened to my godlike hands when the powers receded when arcs of light came blistering in. i was sitting in the oranges when you meant me back to my scalawag chambers and took me as romeo back to the book. my fugitive mythos cornered for once all over in dull cotton. here dims as you going away dims the day's apology. no me. no you. no fire in the toothy sky. no book. no fruit. back to finish your phrase currently  |