In the morning, his almond lipsdrench the man of symbolsLanguid limbs curl across himas youth holds no restrictionsbetween new loversThe stench of liquoraffixes itself to cheststo thighs, to underarm...
It was at dawn that I knew it, blackened seraphs spat new truthsin my ears, draped velvet curtains over every Holy Building until the gold did not shine. I had been tasting words for twenty years,rep...
Small hips Ro with your stripes and velvet hair, with your paint-flecked cheeksWith your prayer book shut and your crosses cleanSoon you’ll be clasping hands with Him in New York City, in the low eas...
I’d eaten it accidentally of course, that cucumber. How was I to know there existed any tangible aesthetic variance between the organic vegetable variety and the generic, supermarket drudgery I had s...
Were heading to Sai Kung. There is a winding hill and bowing trees, scenic things, the things you take pictures of and show to people who maybe care, but most likely dont. You know how its done: you ...
S, in my arms on a suburban field.I could feel the grass, crisp and dry beneath my fingertips; I drew it in greedily and made a fist. The moon was three quarters full that night, there were stars all...
(intended for spoken word purposes)Tiny and meWe gettin off the airplaneLong walk, tarmacPickin up our stuff againSmall cops, big heads Guns cocked, all preppedWe move, we walkPush our shit straight ...
Flying out of Bangkok; the plane slowly gathering speed across the runway. And there are lights across the tarmack, tiny rows of red and blue, and green a little farther up. In the distance, there is...
To know the morning tideis to sit silentlyand feel partial detachmentget every vitriolic pigment of your bodyand let it fall against the floor.
The heavy droop of limp fingerswith nothing much to say - like the cruel heads of dead flowers with half-wilted stems -like a burnt out fluorescent signwinding down above the cross.Ten stubs - pallid...
Glass-walled and dripping in quotations. The scent of the library, of thickly bound knowledge, was the smell of everything she wanted to become.
Sydney has never been very deftin its handling of the seasonal shiftsalways too moistwith clumsy, slow-moving hands.stickyweta very bad transition.This time though, the air smells differentthe creepi...
OR HERE IS FURTHER THAN THE MIDDLE.OR HERE IS NOT QUITE AT THE MIDDLE.
The type was neat. A good font."Today," it started off with - always beginning with today. It was as if (for him) these interactions were not a conversational mode of engagement, but a place ...
There is weight that is tangibleand then there is another sort of weightthat clutches onto your shoulderswith pointed fingersthat sinks its elbows to your stomachthat sits abruptlyon your face
Suns rays, always melting my skin to the mailbox.
You’re fuckin’ all right, you are. You’re a fuckin’ fine catch for a local sorta night. I seen you across the bar likes, and I thort, fuck, she’s lookin’ brilliant, ain she. I mean your hair was look...
5.06. Afternoon. The sun was peeking out, winking cheekily in the spaces between buildings and other objects of great height. I felt tired, very tired and a little bit drunk. That was probably just t...
"Sorry for the other day. Words seemed to have a power over me like nothing else did. They were a largely inexplicable force of movement, a hacked off helicopter propeller that turned of its own ...
There is glitter around Daisy’s eyes, silver. There is thin blonde hair hanging limply from her scalp. There are small white specs falling like tired snow, light as anything, around the crown of her ...
"You," I breathed, "are The Dark Horse. You move always in the night. You graze for only a moment in the spring-covered field, you pause gravely where others burst forth."
Here he isin bed,breathing in the printed text. Doors of PerceptionHe is encountering the Holy things,that are holy without need of a definitive shape.Here he is seeing things that wear no guise,thin...
I often long for that time when youth was newly upon me, when it still tasted slightly foreign and against my face felt full and fresh. I long for it, as it was then that everything was new. I travel...
This afternoon you were in everything: embedded in the roughness of a brown paper newsagents bag, sleeping gently - with blanket and beard - on each of Hyde Park’s gum-stained benches, in the flicker...
Youre smack bang in the middle of a cultural ghost town right here. There’s no gatekeeper at the entrance, no articulated warning, just a bin for all your books and a hook to hang your dreams on. Its...
I am now in the field, with a giant gun slung off one shoulder,I am in the field around the corner from your house.Shorts and sun, sun on shorts, checked collar warm against me,(there is nobody here)
Others have moved you, before meand without words, clothed in stars and in stripes,quiet fingers to lips.To wait to move you - is to lie with words upon me to heave them in slowlyand swallow them dry...
“It is very difficult to be a writer,” remarked the girl in the front seat. I was in the front seat too, though on the passenger side. I always sat in the passenger seat. I liked to talk loudly and w...
I picked her out that night in a SUPREME flat brim (it was blue and bright), as we piled through the automated doors of the Opera House. She was the kind of person who wore every garment with a certa...
“I wish I could speak words like yours. They float nicely along.” He was drunk that night, but he meant it nonetheless. Things were starting to tug between us, the weight of heavy oceans and seven bi...
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