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whhhaaat the hell am I doing? (Writer's block but hey I'm drunk right now)
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Bad poetry 4 windows.
the smile of the young biker exi
sted only for a moment
decayed lightning
and once it was gone all of our loveliness began to fall at the edges
hanging off the planet earth like
a tablecloth drooping in the warm wind.
the smile of the young biker bri
ssing by us between the white s
was for a moment a cell betwee
like the brain does, assembling
I wonder what sort of image we
ll standing together with our mouths poured outwards
as if the weight of all the atmosphere were just one long and appropriate word that had been waiting for us to remember it's name.
4 win ows are hat bro ght in al the sunlight
f om beyond the sho . Sma l as huma hea s,
sleeping amo g the woode walls. A hand aga nst one
felt ke a burn ng bulb
your skin shivered in the sunshine with your wet curiosity
what on ocean Allah had made of your brain
you were always going to drown everyone eventually anyway.
I remember winding roads
spider-leg bodies bent across the hill like tattered cloth strips
begging a human finger to crawl up your hair
feeling the space that god forgot.
