Friday, April 15, 2011


his breath talked to the switchblade...he dropped Ali on the last parasite—William Burroughs if I could reach out and touch you realise you run my hands around your form just be real for a moment lie there with you while the grass grew around us while the world went elsewhere while the cooker boiled over and disasters little disasters cooked themselves oh if only that that I could reach and it was so easy as some clouds drifted by and nothing but you and me and our tiny voices there all day what things we could manage you and I there upon the very edge of the precipice and not even knowing who we are just these things it is a strange hotel room and the Bay outside stranger .

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