Monday, March 29, 2010

Whatever was left in that furniture will deteriorate just as rapidly as your concrete rubber soles on ice, for they sense the changing of the globe

You made sure I had glitter in my face

Glitter in this place, of, grazing cows on paper packaging and bricks on walls with signs of paint

Glitter on your beard

I left you one more time

You clapped once every eight moments

Looked at the arch of metal and up again

Continued moving always proceeding progressing advancing

And pulling off the last pieces of fabric harshly

Is what I heard.

I told the skies I was waiting for my prince to come back.

The innocence of straws told me to ignore

Those who let themselves be owned

I walk by myself with you after behind, uncommon

Quite happily quite empty in clouds, but not on clouds

Quite nauseous actually

Rumors are fine, you said,

When they are untrue

But when they are versions of the truth they burn scarves with cigarettes.

Talk to my eyes

Or Mr Noodle will become my plan A for many many milliseconds.

Wait my bad conscience is speaking

I seek no falcons amongst caterpillars

I look for fragility in space

Fragility in pretty lips

Thinner wrists and you can cuff mine if you wish.

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