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Beautiful, in that way that space and any measure of emptiness is beautiful
(
idea
)
by
junkpile
Wed Feb 21 2001 at 8:06:38
When he rubbed
against her lips
she did not push back. I was watching her. She was not watching anything. Her focus was somewhere else and would not be called back for
his easily ignorable touch
. She was
caught in a dream, elsewhere
. We all knew this was not really happening but she knew it deeper. On
autopilot
. They said, later she will crash, she will break down. But she won't.
Driving home
, I had bad things in my body - spikes through my temples, sour
heartburn
leeching upwards, pounding pulse, but it was all right by comparison.
I'm alive, I can prove it.
I was thinking, my pulse will pull me along,
this is a good omen, this pounding heart
, it will draw me farther from any silent stupor or absence of words. Will keep me from being lifeless.
Then I was thinking, my pulse is pulling me but I never think to ask where, just follow, my brain takes its track and I never think of fighting.
Then I was thinking, when is the last time I made anything, I know I have
paint
somewhere in my house but I never think to use it on anything, time skims past me, surely I am not growing older, it is not really happening. Then I was home and sleeping and forgetting and
tomorrow I will break down, or, I won't.
printable version
chaos
caught up in the clouds, soaked with beautiful tears
In your heart you know it's flat
Kitty interrupts his murky float with the nail gun splash of her stiletto song
Our lives and these empty spaces aside
Notes on ruining the beauty of barren places by being there
Daydreaming on a lazy Sunday afternoon
Memories are meant to fade : They're designed that way for a reason
On a rock in Central Park
broad-spectrum amnesiac
Brittle things will break before they turn
on the cusp of empty
Teen Bride Im Sorry
Sparkling like a star in his hand, melting like a snowflake
gaining night vision
Teenage bride with a baby inside, getting high on information
Not her voice, but the way her voice changes,
I am taking the silence as a yes
Klaproth
Can things really change?
October 25, 2007
and somewhere the stinging smell of burning leaves
Ashtavakra Gita
August 7, 2003
A pillow of smoke for a luminous new year
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