reflection another eye, inner different colour, stumble-crawl my knees underneath suddenly the bed, fallen the guitar thunk lands hard. the person the mirror your name whatwhispers-he this time-makesyouhappy.hips jugular, kisses, together a soft machine. inblown, beautiful unexpected things, replied. replied, answered, this, you, lightning storms. hand textures silk silk finehair better than sighs don’t remember anything like this before, too fine, too delightful. we never leave this room, ghost, insubstantial, less-now people have met him. eat your name, cling tongue lovely machines, electricity in the air he. hips, eyes, somethingslides, that feeling before the storm, chest blown, ocean, oceanandwaves, standing pressure. searching this life for someone who understands me cliché love story me now here and understandsees where I’m coming from me. laughter, throat, the feeling of growling, purring, you’re not so hard, shift sly, a side aside, that look here, hands with nothing to hold onto but silk and the wall, that’s because you’re fucking crazy.
madness, he says, you bring me madness.
)when what hugs stopping earth than silent is
more silent than more than much more is or
total sun oceaning than any this
tear jumping from each most least eye of star
and without was if minus and shall be
immeasurable happenless unnow
shuts more than open could that every tree
or than all life more death begins to grow
end’s ending then these dolls of joy and grief
these recent memories of future dream
these perhaps who have lost their shadows if
which did not do the losing spectres mime
until out of merely not nothing comes
only one snowflake(and we speak our names
Not ten minutes ago, I was woken up in the Waldorf Tiki Polynesian Lounge by unfamiliar staff members nervously peering over me. “How did you get in here? Where did you come from?” I answered them with an amazing string of surprised expletives and shook Kyle awake, at which point they sighed with relief. At first they hadn’t seen Kyle, because he’d curled up under all my wool hair, snuggled in like a bunny. All they’d seen were two kids, mysteriously asleep in their hotel, with clothing and miscellany scattered all over the ballroom floor.
My life, on occasion, is surprisingly perfect.
If, by some mystical chance, there were no rumours before, now they shall be flying on the wings of crows and angels, fluttering from mouth to mouth through that hotel as fire and laughter.
Written Thursday, February 24th, 2005: “Take comfort that some of the fear is mutual. We are savage flowers, bleeding at the roots, utterly convincing.”