stupid tarot

gives me one card. the lovers.
















989079087987987906897












so then i say



am i wrong to feel this way? n she says, no
not really. not if you like the challenge. besides
this kind of thing really brings out the best.

oh sure, i go, like cutting brings out the blood?
this isn't eighteenth century medicine we're talking.

n she says are you sure?




















()(***)()


jam 19 is such a ghost fire
it burns into the subconscious
the time you finally let go of perfection
and felt chemical carbomb explosional
hangin tiiight with the gods of desire.









*)_(&)()

you think of me as strong. but i sit in my blonde
chair,left behind the first time you left.
i keep saying that as if it were true
but i think there was one other time
you just kind of faded , as rose, browned
and hung with a violet ribbon on the wall.
aurora in a sky i forgot i ever visited.

i am attached to the chair. without salvia.

we exchange emails. it's safe enough, writing:
my story uncut or cluttered by real time response
your story invested in the history of how you got here.
word association coming close to a fiberoptic candyman.

as you can tell, i'm listening to the past. avoiding the future.
soon i'll be taking you on the road, up to j n j's place, a
drive where you're in the trees, a certain
color of blue, green and brown peeping
from leaf dapple. apple of course, a day.
alkaline and amino acid ph. scales, holding still.


you can listen to the songs in reverse
and see the history of how we got here.





*


long gone days. hours and roadkill.
the night of driving safely, rain a luckless
answer. the room doesn't get any cleaner
this way. the wash of sins keeps pattering
a spray from tire flaps
my only mist.

where's my sunny daze now?
open a window, let in some air.
there's movement out there, maybe
it'll inspire me. you. whoever.







)(898

when you give up control.
i think that's when things begin to seem
better.
just a li'l cork's hair follicle.
but anyway, you like your porch, the plumbago
the kitchen in white, the vomit stains on the carpet.
you got enough demons in a vase for a colorful boquet.
daddy's yellin to clean up, you got company coming.
but you just want to write about all this fire inside.
remember money
can't buy it, all you need is. and the heroin strains
of a mad season crawl across your monitor.
marylin in her white face whips a tossing turn
across my tainted lips, like your cum over tits
that don't belong to you, that never wanted you.
a touch that teases, shred the lover's card
i think maybe i
need some different music on my itunes?










(*(*^





heh, company coming. really i need impetus to do the daily.
so this is primo. what's up? what's up? if i set my sites on you
and no one else will do/ is that love or desire? sometimes
i get the taste of you in my mouth , coconut and lemon grass,
mushroom slip and postulate. there i turned the music down
a volta or two. the door slams in the wind. chimes blow
the kittens inside my cat roll and stretch, becoming.
i have three hours of daylight left. a calming tide is coming.
i took the tour, loved the music but the memories
fall on me like stars in the daytime.