the truest way to love you would just be to laugh in my sleep, yet still i dream weeping of you
tune in, cut up, paste down. . . a fucking hi-jack.
if, as Burroughs asserted, "language is a virus," is writing a mutation, and poetry, in memetic terms, an act of sabotage?
(when you glance away, i jot one-liners on my hands - only to shove them shyly into my pockets when your gaze returns. you smile regardless.
cast in your shadow, my heart declares war on my lungs and i toss sighs
for my right to remain breathless)
if, as Burroughs asserted, "language is a virus," is writing a mutation, and poetry, in memetic terms, an act of sabotage?
(when you glance away, i jot one-liners on my hands - only to shove them shyly into my pockets when your gaze returns. you smile regardless.
cast in your shadow, my heart declares war on my lungs and i toss sighs
for my right to remain breathless)