This is something interesting I nabbed off of Benn.
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Report generated 15/06/04 2:01:48 PM by
n: vb: the spice of imagination
This is something interesting I nabbed off of Benn.
Top Commenters on
1 | 760 | |
2 | 127 | |
3 | 119 | |
4 | 66 | |
5 | 62 | |
6 | 57 | |
7 | 50 | |
8 | 48 | |
9 | 48 | |
10 | 44 |
_______________
Report generated 15/06/04 2:01:48 PM by
I’m being forced to sleep. It’s like being locked in a tower of
bone. I feel I must write, but am being flooded with so many subjects,
personal mythology, that I cannot choose. Dying, I am locked in my own
ivory cage. Transcendence into the fire.
Out there and in daylight, there is a girl at home.
She can write.
I was talking with Bill today and at one point I told him that
everyone has been giving me different pieces to fix my life with.
(Though what it needs fixing from is beyond me to know). I said, “To
everything, Ian says I need a tazer, Dominique says I need sex, and
Sophie says I need to go over and make her Sangria.”
This binary ink is not helping. These words are dripping wrong from my fingers.
inspire me to poetry so that i may rest
In spite of changing clothing, the scent of the frenchman has caught. Tonight I sleep alone.
Fur catching in my hair, unexpected. Trees of darkness spreading thier
branches over the nightrid bed. My wings have caught the air and I fly.
I love the Dance, the steps, the thoughts.
How is it possible to convey body language over the phone? An
ordinary conversation, an easy-going patter of nothing in particular. I
hang up knowing I’ve been asked over ‘for the night’ without a word or
inflection to say so.
I may be a happy person, but it’s because I’m laughing at you.
Puppy, patter, patterns on tile.
I write this down to remember you by. The backporch looks over an
orchard. Cherry trees I want to climb, the thought of pie tins
flashing.
I’m too tired to think, to type, to write.
It will be a lovely day tomorrow.
prepare, my dearest, for I fall from grace