Saturday, January 15, 2005

saint ill

late @ nite i read only my own work / gather
thots / back log / written & tossed aside


like so much water / drown from cold
white white / the cold is white /death


but do i care about these things
no / i do not care about cold / or crazy

& she wonders about dead poets / the ones
who kill them selves / who write in pain




& these are not my thots any more
i hand them over to you / i give you
my pain / ease the horrification of shame



silver snow falls silent
yes it's winter / january you see

& she can't get the sick feeling out of
her stomach / it sits heavy / mourning

perhaps tomorrow the temperature will
rise toward zero / minus 20 c hurts bones









arms twinge with heat / knarled knots
burn





what really burns / is the truth
some how things will sort them selves out



i don't think i can talk to you
with out my heart pounding through
my chest / / flashes of memory
i can't confess / i remember a kiss
a touch not un pleasant


did i respond? that's what i want to know
did i give a signal / an error / i'm sure it
was all an error / a case of bad judgement

a case of:
out of one's mind


why me? chosen to bear the ring of truth
bearer of bad news / burden of sin

my lust rests between your lips
the ache of my skin rests under your hands


possession. sin of skin / desire becomes
a demand / some thing rises in the belly

across mid section / sends a signal to the brain
what is this / do you remember / i don't recall


what really happened / @ one with the earth
flat / curled up / st.ill /










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