Thursday, November 20, 2008

Copulating Moths

Jump, tether ball, shadow tag. Andy's tumbled rocks held me forever enthralled. Gregorian chants that lingered in my ears like copulating moths.

A fascination with glass began at that window, wondering how did I look looking out. The bread heel used to hold the giblet stuffing in was later fried in blood. I stole chunks of butter and ate them dipped in sugar.

A green fluid for drinking you might see at a friend's house. Did it really happen or are we talking about a photograph here? The tyranny of Pyrite yields up again!

"Childhood is a dream from which I am trying to awake." A can of cream of mushroom soup in that moment only was perfect. In one nightmare, Bigfoot stood in the side yard just gazing up at my bedroom window.

I'm as slippery as a trout! The bitter adult would be neither loved nor understood for decades. In the shoebox under the bed, that's where they are.

Talking as if anybody would. The loose tooth which signified death, the body's obvious inclination to disintegrate. Scratch a rhombus, reveal a plane.

Christ was splinter thin, which was a virtue. On that leash for so long.

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