Sipping wine and prophesizing us.

i realise it's not the same as
anonymous's game, taking
your lines without credit but
you are in paranoiac ville about now
so no worries i'll expose you
k? hey hey it's ok, rilly.


jist you know , the keyboard's spittin out spaces
and all the chocolate's been eaten. i have a new pain
it's in my toes. hearts are so cliche, moreso than
pointing out cliches, even.  you wonder if

every thing is this same game of gain and loss.
i gotta tell you that it sure feels that way now.
i can't see us in a martha stewart kitchen or
lounging on a vitton chaise in aruba because

all the dreams were co opted years ago. i envy
you the ability to continue in the face of desuetude
but my fine lines seem to lead to solitary sleep.
and happy for it. the wine flows down the grapevine

and we all feel a bit finer. out of carolina
for a dropped chalice. you can pick the make.
let it be of  china if you want. there are no rules
in lethe. or wait, was that the strafe

of wars, big and small, acting like something taller
as the empire state, we named it we bought it
we caged it we caught it. the bullets make the master
the sheep make the slaughter. ahhhh but i'm not

so despairing as all that am i? there is beauty
in a habanese who needs a house sitter, the trees
and their flight above the perfect pool, the knees
of nuns, do they still move? spittle and spoit and goove.