load its been a while. 010312
again forgotten 010312
monadh away
tossed aside
bloodjetpoetry she washed jesus' feet, and she felt clean. when the red goes away ... when the pink isn't there ... when the black isn't in your mind. when it doesn't feel like it'll tear. 011119
Phil The smell of my bed
Cold tight skin
Stretched over my feet
Standing on the hot drain
Yellow piss and a spray of shit
In the toilet
Dirty water in the sink
Skip the shower
Wash the dishes
Clean and drying in the cupboard
And drawer
Steamed sweet potatoes and baked peas
Melting snow dripping
Into puddles on the concrete surrounding the back door
Opening the wooden porch door
Their paws skating over stone and wood
To gulp down their treat
Little cuties
Pottied outside
The pig is asking
What smells so good
Nothing at all
Little pig
I ate it all
Go back to bed
Perched in the corner of my bed
Eating my food
My feet on the belly of death
My hair in her lashing whips of jade
Diamond rings
Twisted tongue
Rubies clinking and sifting subtley with each stretch
Of sunlight
Warming up the day
Covered by the cold
Heavy heads
That begin
Feeling light and peaceful
Eucalyptus and menthol
Soft and warm
Folding the laundry
Piled on my bed
Listening to Scandanavian metal
what's it to you?
who go