(no subject)
“The colors seem too late this year. At this time of night it seems like everything should go sink into the cold and seep into the blank dim grey. But I’m not sure what …how to register this face in the mid-light. It’s cold but unofficial. It’s the symptom of power…and the hidden myth of moon…and the water in me. If only a reflection then it a mystery like me. Does any body love you? Because I could question everyone who says it of me. Need or tide. Some movement in me. I took a trip today up to hell gate…to see how the cyclones move and twist under the currents…how bodies meet and contours in numerous ways. Ripped apart or forced as one, I imagine the water is painfully cold this time of year. More horrible to drown in late autumn, or winter time…neither theory or fact…just an imposition on the daily schema. I could easily imagine the curve of the moon and my lifeless body alon the bottom bumping along by whim of a satellite.
“It’s true…I never thought of a woman or man as deserving more than a momentary splash…to carry on a theme…but now I imagine a passing glance to b too intimate for this time. we’re in the age of collapsed lovers…sheets as sails and drains filled with the remnants of regrets. All those fancy fresh faced lovers licked with liquors on Rivington…I hardly see them beore the enter the blur of aptitudes…of standardized mythos. Again that word. I could love everything…but I’m not a child and I’ve seen the willingness of a day or two, and how to forget. To perform things by halves on a daily basis…how to half the moon and be captain of the isles…painlessly merging our miseries with our lonely rders…and go on to the morning with lust or love or pages of madmen who’ve lived the graphic notions of the reed and the wind. All a life without love…ever more so. A dark little noticed. A day barely conscious. A nose barely filled. A stomach barely fed. A able barely visible. A scratch barely broken. An affliction barely fed. A bite hardly flicked. A cell once sheltered another exposed without detriment. An evening, m’dear, without the symptom and eternally so…a puzzle self aggrandized and reedy and windowless.”
A haze of traffic blurred the scene from the window….water gathered on the windows int e flower gowns of heavy conversation. The city a being in and of…no only war nor survivors. Everyone a soldier, everyone made of ash. Another Indian broke the night with a cauterized song. Pitched and ancient, as all things should, his song broke the fences and eh static. A peace offered to the only son, a drug, a song set sail.
“It’s true…I never thought of a woman or man as deserving more than a momentary splash…to carry on a theme…but now I imagine a passing glance to b too intimate for this time. we’re in the age of collapsed lovers…sheets as sails and drains filled with the remnants of regrets. All those fancy fresh faced lovers licked with liquors on Rivington…I hardly see them beore the enter the blur of aptitudes…of standardized mythos. Again that word. I could love everything…but I’m not a child and I’ve seen the willingness of a day or two, and how to forget. To perform things by halves on a daily basis…how to half the moon and be captain of the isles…painlessly merging our miseries with our lonely rders…and go on to the morning with lust or love or pages of madmen who’ve lived the graphic notions of the reed and the wind. All a life without love…ever more so. A dark little noticed. A day barely conscious. A nose barely filled. A stomach barely fed. A able barely visible. A scratch barely broken. An affliction barely fed. A bite hardly flicked. A cell once sheltered another exposed without detriment. An evening, m’dear, without the symptom and eternally so…a puzzle self aggrandized and reedy and windowless.”
A haze of traffic blurred the scene from the window….water gathered on the windows int e flower gowns of heavy conversation. The city a being in and of…no only war nor survivors. Everyone a soldier, everyone made of ash. Another Indian broke the night with a cauterized song. Pitched and ancient, as all things should, his song broke the fences and eh static. A peace offered to the only son, a drug, a song set sail.