...an alternative reality
Everywhere is a now - waiting. Air sticks
to words, bites hands, feeds it meaning.
Her stories fail enough to avoid satisfying
an ending. I lost a place that crawled
an inch at a time across pages of print.
I was saved by pictures; they slid down my eye
planted me in their searches. Panic tastes
like good sex. Wet crotches head
for the climaxes of thrown away worlds.
We reenter as the weight of a void.
I make out with lover's tales that aren't
embarrassed to wear loud smiles to stop
an alternative reality.
to words, bites hands, feeds it meaning.
Her stories fail enough to avoid satisfying
an ending. I lost a place that crawled
an inch at a time across pages of print.
I was saved by pictures; they slid down my eye
planted me in their searches. Panic tastes
like good sex. Wet crotches head
for the climaxes of thrown away worlds.
We reenter as the weight of a void.
I make out with lover's tales that aren't
embarrassed to wear loud smiles to stop
an alternative reality.