| snuff jazz budweiser gin boulevard |
[07 Jan 2006|07:30am] |
he fell asleep inside of me
and left me to wonder about the morning...
telling him i love him in bars
and straight to hell with erotiscm because
it holds no hue(s) to match me. to
smoke indoors is not the same
with explicit instructions against it,
and time
is all changed around, laughing at the hapless
who try to best it by checking ahead, it
turns its coat anyway.
of course the whatall takes occasion
to mock your endeavors and bring you
home much too early to be satisfactory.
and the cats will go unfed,
the lights go left on,
speed, at any rate, will not be enough.
these are moments we live for.
are they not?
of no i know
no sound or color to stop the pursuit; and
chase is the one thing given freely.
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| Except |
[07 Jan 2006|09:53pm] |
it, then,
is only
me who kills me,
who dies
at the drop of
certain thoughts.
the waiting is not what
dies, or kills.
it is not
the absence; not, in
any way, related to what
ever may (or
may not) actually be
happening...
only thoughts.
and tomorrow
is bigger than
me and
him, than us
together.
so there
It is and goes - mere
and matteroffactly.
though i imagine
(again) that It
would
turn a snide grin into
my wind and chuckle
blithely as it went;
as, certainly, i am apt
to do. but
we may not
want to mention what
i am capable
of imagining.
and to think
of only
yesterday.
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