blue feels like my body...

mattress, bills, woman-stomach, a floor. swirling.

the light, a can of steps. (stone

shoes scare me.)

my fingers in your loneliness.

my lips want to be shaded by your thoughts

dirty sounds. sweat, salt and brandless brew. even

a warm rattling.

like films. unplugged, the

"I" breaks on. shiny white top to your thin

blanket, to your tip with just my

cigarette to sleep. a sort of breath, i turn on

the wrong side.

other movements?

12..... maybe

irony

clearing all chambers

better to clock

industrial flock

heel sound

barrel

a shot

pale parting throats

nah

mucus?

tapped eyes

next

jock olive

ha, good luck!

there is still Music

we were sitting somewhere in the night

I wish I could find this song for you

it starts with a kick then turns into a trampoline. then.

mountains. of huge dark holes. hammered - I kissed

your thighs and time spun out.

MORNING

anxiety. liquid head. small room.

potato-bug-smile/everything-out-neck.

ringworm mouth.

after she left for where ever (maybe work.)

I have her books to check out:

Marguerite Duras - the lover

"Hallo how are you? he'd say in the English syle, without a comma, laughing."

Burroughs - junky

(too flat)

Patti Smith - early work

"it was brancusi who had the courage to crack and reconstruct the intelligent innocence of an egg. thru mold and concrete he shot the perfect shape into the rock. the hard thrust of a feather."

lots of Stephen King - "tak"

in the fridge I find stuff to make a drink:

RC/vodka

4 ice cubes

a clear plastic cup.

on the door of the fridge, magnetic words, I push a few together:

is love, weightless?