washed load its been a while. 010312 ... again forgotten 010312 ... monadh away tossed aside 010312 ... 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 Bony Standing on the hot drain Hair 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 Whistling 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 Writing 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 240421 what's it to you? who go blather from