grendel the foundation for the ink for the words i spill 040517
sab everyone is conturubitng
their own little dirty agendas
to the words
i am
to the life
i have

i would like to think
that at least my ink is unclouded with dirt
but i would be lying to myself
and then i'd know.

i wish the ink was free from ugly particles
it makes the writing so much easier
phil Boiling dead metal sky clouds spasm chisel dipped turn smoldering ocean split flow dripping firey crack flakes pain. 040518
newme . 040715
ever dumbening on the wheel where the metal and sand meet the clay and my hand

in my lungs this glass dust puffs from feet falling

iron bubbles up through shino glazing orange and white-orange

the one moment that moved me in one thousand sundays

[return here]
sold bought and processed grandma's secret cookie recipe. mmmmm. 040717
Borealis blood on my hands
poison through my veins
rust over my skin
ash falling from the sky your fingertips

in blood, salt and tears
sand and earth
chalk and lime

these words are written.
drink my blood...and you will sleep. feverishly longing for things you can never have..things you would never desire..consuming things..

and the pain will eat you alive until you have been reduced to nothing more than a shadow..a waif..less than alive
..existing for the occasional glimpse of a love..running from the sunlight..

petrified of being exposed for what you are.
what you have allowed yourself to become

there is no truth left...
only illusions
misstree the taste of rebirth. 040717
pete i repent for i am dust and ashes...

yet you see
i have no idea what you just told me
and i repent
because i am terrified of your voice
happy now A bunch of my favorite skites all in one blathe. 041218
three words cut_that_cord
what's it to you?
who go