Stuck in the head, stolen, words, stolen. Stuck in. Stolen words. Getting the rhythm right. Getting the rhythm, right. Grasping at new, cipher future, drink past, fuck the present. Just a way to explain decay. Fuck explain. Fuck. Create. A clay structure. Hardened clay, a wall a wall to not climb to shatter thinking always of patricide. Rides to groups of two or less. Safety in numbers, slide fingers under the skirt. Rides to groups of two or less. Attention is dragged thin with only ten fingers. Tonight is a bad night until we rest, entwined this way like the way vines grow around rotting cadavering. Tonight is a bad night, until, entwined.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
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