limes, nuts, i don't wanna work today
music and plumbing
Lead [-]
(11/18/09 20:24:58)
ezOP
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i'm just a figment of your imagination
the fifth chakra of cassiopea. rub my feet.
the voices of ants and bees are in the keys.
you're glad you failed at the post office.
a hundred people in a room speaking
in tap. medieval marketing of a square
two triangles and tres marias. let us
pray to the persieds, from whence comes
fire and ice, sparkling in a city lit night.
thank you for putting on the new shower head.
i could have done it without you, but it wouldn't
have been as fun. just relax, let loose, play
your songs on the surface of my skin.
manifestation of a lime green plymouth station wagon
Lead [-]
(11/18/09 05:29:41)
ezOP
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it was, like , eight in the morning.
i stop at the sign because
a car's coming fast .
you called me several times
last nite. we finally connect.
you mention the walls, how things
are left unfinished. i'm ok with
yellow bleeding through. the car
is from your childhood. pregnant
belly sides, wood paneling. the driver
smokes a cigarette. it's coming
from the back of the trailor park
where i never go. the wheels
are new shiny chrome. the paint job
looks original. the engine moves
the hunkerous beast down the bayou
with steam ship grace. i picture
you in the rear, sleeping. i picture
your brothers and sister beside you
coming home from the lake. i wanted
to stop it, look inside at your
memory but i also feared there would be
unrecognisable bodies there. an incongruity
an overlap, a nightmare in tropical murder.
i dunno. i'm sick that way sometimes.
()*
so you call and i think "why?"
homeless but employed. already you begin
to filter your words to me, miscommunicate
intentions, beg me to beg you. to move in.
or something. i have a room. but it wants
a grandchild not another sail.
we don't talk much about brasil now.
londrina is cut off by single engine stallout.
the ocean we would fuck in remains
a bad porn script. viagra and a beer chaser.
we have more fun near small airports, kids
sliding down the dirt mounds that line a hard
packed clay runway. having you for my man
might be the best thing for you. but what
would it do to me. i only want you when
you're not available. i'm such a guy that way.
*()&
i read your letters every morning
we're going to die soon and all this
will be over. i read you again
at night, after the day's gone
to sleep in the belly of the family
car. you tell me how writing saved
your life. i look at you .slant
eyeslits take in twilit sky , from
a carpeted floor. you think
no i think i'm being precious
when i use language that
that has nuance and grace.
how wonder is still possible
because i didn't guess you'd
do that to me. but the road
always leads away from the lake
of my childhood. i'm fine with letting
daddy drive the dreams home.
Lead [-]
(11/18/09 20:24:58)
ezOP
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i'm just a figment of your imagination
the fifth chakra of cassiopea. rub my feet.
the voices of ants and bees are in the keys.
you're glad you failed at the post office.
a hundred people in a room speaking
in tap. medieval marketing of a square
two triangles and tres marias. let us
pray to the persieds, from whence comes
fire and ice, sparkling in a city lit night.
thank you for putting on the new shower head.
i could have done it without you, but it wouldn't
have been as fun. just relax, let loose, play
your songs on the surface of my skin.
manifestation of a lime green plymouth station wagon
Lead [-]
(11/18/09 05:29:41)
ezOP
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it was, like , eight in the morning.
i stop at the sign because
a car's coming fast .
you called me several times
last nite. we finally connect.
you mention the walls, how things
are left unfinished. i'm ok with
yellow bleeding through. the car
is from your childhood. pregnant
belly sides, wood paneling. the driver
smokes a cigarette. it's coming
from the back of the trailor park
where i never go. the wheels
are new shiny chrome. the paint job
looks original. the engine moves
the hunkerous beast down the bayou
with steam ship grace. i picture
you in the rear, sleeping. i picture
your brothers and sister beside you
coming home from the lake. i wanted
to stop it, look inside at your
memory but i also feared there would be
unrecognisable bodies there. an incongruity
an overlap, a nightmare in tropical murder.
i dunno. i'm sick that way sometimes.
()*
so you call and i think "why?"
homeless but employed. already you begin
to filter your words to me, miscommunicate
intentions, beg me to beg you. to move in.
or something. i have a room. but it wants
a grandchild not another sail.
we don't talk much about brasil now.
londrina is cut off by single engine stallout.
the ocean we would fuck in remains
a bad porn script. viagra and a beer chaser.
we have more fun near small airports, kids
sliding down the dirt mounds that line a hard
packed clay runway. having you for my man
might be the best thing for you. but what
would it do to me. i only want you when
you're not available. i'm such a guy that way.
*()&
i read your letters every morning
we're going to die soon and all this
will be over. i read you again
at night, after the day's gone
to sleep in the belly of the family
car. you tell me how writing saved
your life. i look at you .slant
eyeslits take in twilit sky , from
a carpeted floor. you think
no i think i'm being precious
when i use language that
that has nuance and grace.
how wonder is still possible
because i didn't guess you'd
do that to me. but the road
always leads away from the lake
of my childhood. i'm fine with letting
daddy drive the dreams home.
posted by hiccup at 5:39 AM
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