6.29.2002

pure fuckin' rubbish and a little dance dance. see the wide eyes open. poetry in gasoline. got the reference? gas money twenty in the side pocket and stolen cherry soda. strain the voice with screaming. can you see the difference, can you really see the difference? it gets dark quickly. with jutting hip bones, she maneuvered through the crowd. and the kid is still standing there by the bikes, contemplating which one to steal with slick quick fingers. table for four. two drinks same beverage. ginger lemon lime echinacea. good for the sinuses. slippery skin from dashing between the droplets of plastic coated liquids. and naked pictures float down from temporary home in the air. seen it all yet? bare skin and inviting eyes. behind the retinas there is more. synapse to synapse. electric flash of recognition. so what was two nights ago? graffiti'd on the wall with colored dripping spray paint was your name. but i cannot read. pretend to be ambidextrous to impress the girls. are you in denmark waiting for me? outdoors is blue and black. black and blue. waiting for the room to grow golden and reddish. two plus two equals one in this case. oh, it hugs in all the right places. bruised egos versus blushing cheeks. it grows hotter. freshly sharpened pencil. to a point in graphite. tighten the hold on the compass with two arms. and one circles the other like the poet john donne. doom told me true soldiers push through the pain. lay your head on the table and things move slower. don't they? shake a wet tree and the water comes down on you. turn the lights down low. watch potted flowers blossom in damp night air. and man behind the curtains, kiss me hard. i'll keep my eyes closed. but feel a face with trembling lips and hands tied behind my back. the pink is innocent and does not bleed on the paper. but it's on my fingerprints. the small of the back calling you home.