Friday, November 16, 2007


maybe dream is sick
her dress tore in blackberry briers
I running over myself for her beauty.

did i coffin her in with sex
with sweaty gold flowers and thread?

escape the fate of apes/ this is uncensored monkey sex/ I orgasmed against you / squeaky clean

she is too small/ in a crib/ with lips sewn up/ heavy stitching black thread/ i listen to her heart thunder while others pass by/ hospital doors swing in and out/

when he comes to me in dreams it is next to tall wooden fences/ i scrape my finger down for splinters/ fresh wood/ he'll come/ the edges over his undershirt