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several
kinds of muted sadness...
perhaps I should have warned
you : I'm
vulnerable to some kind of
vertigo
in rooms stretched quite
to this
pitch of silence
you should not have stopped
me from
tasting remorselessness.
you should not
have covered the necessary
lusts
of my mouth
in this residual light I
realize I don't entirely know your face. here for instance is a
space for sadism.
even when sober you balance
this paradox : explicit flesh,
insignificant intimacies.
give my
love to all such casual victims
it is also the story of a
thousand
songs. desperado features.
you sing me
the muffled insolence of
two out of
three. when the moon is sobbing
openly
like the silver bitch she
is I offer this highschool
brightness : do/be/do, did
you put up a fight?
we use words that are always
waiting. you came too late after my ninth life and for
your imperial tenderness
I never quite cracked enough
several kinds of muted sadness.
always
always in my mind
so I'm watching us argue.
there should be mirrors. you actually bare your teeth
he leaves a letter suggesting
time and space. she returns
there is no best for both
of us
you remain like a dry mouth.
a
sense of deprivation. nevertheless
you were my first lipful
of alcohol. sin of
a parkswing loving the slow
death of stolen
cigarettes. breathlessness
is the colour blue.
and all my strength is the
bearing of dirt beneath
the obedient flat of my back
your resurrection has cost
me
extremity
cause and effect. I notice
here that
I am on my knees. it just
happened appears
also she meant nothing
to me. the moon
officiates your stale argument
of fate. never
the less
the motivations of estrangement.
come to
expect these misdirections.
discarding all
stories in which I fail to
appear
and me. the lowest common
denominator. a man in the mirror is giving Medusa head
here I am wearing betrayal
like a kid
smudged with the sickness
of lipstick. an explanation
of the ugliness of wallpaper.
you need not be told : I am drunk. but
this proves useful for practising
masochism
dwelling in glass I deliver
the home breaker. all day we stay watching its thin bones
reset
you are the resident regret
in my
history. a short synopsis
of humiliation.
tenant in a series of mutilating
dreams. nevertheless
but you left no blood for
me to play lady. all day
I hear women singing of selling
their souls
this finger
on your skin
has an aetiology
index : desperation
red drapes : outbreath
©
1999
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