erosioni hunt youalways in the dim coriander shadowshelves of thought.it became a worry whenthis obsessionbeganto taste like lemonand burning walnut,like myself, with an alien flameroiling up insidethe sunken balsam-wood.the grains in me bowwherever you slay themand a lash of cheek in the mirrorcaught in the wrong lightwhen i turnlooks like yourhands unfoldinganother mapas your knuckleslinger andshake against the steering wheel
salti of you,such a beautiful mess, intertwined and overrun.your arms, copper lips, citrus,a lovin' with a twist.my summer away at space pirate camp,i took to howling with you the first thunder of june;flesh, storms,the hunt for human brains, Maybe Zombies Just Want To Hug? - 6 lies to tell yourself if shipwrecked.i can't explain the feelings i get.wakewalking, blue dream before i sleep: the soul cupping rice (glass figurines, lamp light eyes).my fear is milk two sugars. drink drink drink beneath it all, floral growth, silver spoons, featherweight fox teeth, losing my spine, strange preoccupations with skin, idle... maps.
the hungry look...the hungry look,the wolvesweaving throughand around the gully of your throat like wraiths,we can feel you rusting, lost one;i know that drainpipes and fendersbegin to crackle after winter wetand that there’s a touch of snowin all of us,but no one,no one could hold you as tightly as you do,your whole body, bloodless in this arrest,and if you will not let your fetters showi will show youthere’s a place for going, and you haven’t gone there yet;where quantum particles, once in contact, can retain a connectioneven when separatedwhere youwander up to a strangerwith your shirt inside-outand say ‘don’t mind me, i am just a deer come out to observe the world’some strange magic, that once done, cannot let go
scientistcedar, and the transparency of lightcrawling through a cola bottleyou look through spaceand then you look at meand see my miniature;sunglow, the word i use for you isthe color of premature saffron orwild maize,a man belly upand being poured into itan eon of yellow ore -is the same wanting of living,the same humanness brokenif i were to run my handsthrough you,i'd disappear into the etherso long at spacewere i to touch you nowit would be an old bell of soundand you would be an hourglassof measuring
bluehere, out of the flightless ink of fish,the coals are moonlit-blue, and piercedby little bodies - turtles -little bodies made for brawlingin the great apricot cold -bumpy heads and peanut shellsand silence dismantledwherever they shiftthrough the sandydark -every fin is a petitionfor water, a body of waterto bury into