Saturday, September 03, 2005

old, old lines [24]

in sick sleep the mind gives itself false problems to solve...in the ego sunlight...a feather from your pillow...she's making love with her voice, or listening to...the electric guitar of his portrait, or wshing for...a poison face, or keeping the scent of honey...you sweep past these women to her, you reach out in greed...as you persuade the lamp, she reddens...you walk where they lift her name until the dawn...falls, in a breeze of bliss who envies the time...of your bed? in her hair, a feather from your pillow...you fasten the pocket of her thief she kisses...the windowsill she smiles in her disguise...you caress her divorcing legs your thirst and her skirt...a prayer of tossed salt and your hot wanting...it's gorgeous the blood orange...she answers the look in your eye...you trick your body into responding...with pornographic fiction...there's your man...with his wizard hat and chemicals fizzing...there's your man...with...hippie disguise...coffee table eyes....torn from a magazine...luminous muse...on my bedroom wall...help me please to compose....torn from that magazine....a melody for celeste...a melody and changes and haunted phrase...invocation to miss december...o luminous muse...removed with scissors from that magazine...gazing today at a sordid magazine...I thought of you...I wished I could drive to your...

No comments: