from bee to bee.....

[wreckmycontrol]

its cold.
i wake up so cold.

to dodder down the lines of a
dusty old suit jacket
the one hes worn religiously
these streets, this controversy
winding between the buttons and threads
smelling baguette and clouds of linens
feeling lost and found.

birds stop my endless wander
they assemble to pull the threads on these lips
needles to say they have forgotten what its like to stretch
although its thereafter departure feels safer
im ready again to cut the threads.
they still pull my hands daily though
and bend me out of bed.

i once dyed myself black
to avoid times like now
it saved my life then
but now the saving needs be gone.
now this time i want it full
and shoes do fit when they are to
but they need trying on

this hand of veins without veils....
i know its called foreign
but foreign would be without bee
this new substance without the sour
and leaving my needles to weave
they are finally here to detonate
to paint the lines in my sky
look to the east and i to west
there is home
there is my warmth

its warm now
im warm.