“perhaps”
Worthy foe or wasted felon Fasting waste of a foul wench A hopeless tale Nobody Left But The finale The last human The final collective Nothing left in her limbs Lungs plunged and pierced Laid on the pride of the land Her victory over him What about them The unknown spacestaraviourcraft staring gazing lying but…
“words et cetera”
I wonder if it’s true My hypothesis set, When you have nothing to say is when you should write. But isn’t it the essential truth The absolute difference Words are selfish and sole. Through the frayed brown rope Linking the glimmery receivers Exploding From me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Me. Mirror this back The truth…
tulle
Love is always cruel before it ends Watching the glitter fall down the sewer She kicked her heels together and spun away from the treasure forever -J
sneak
serpentine slut seducing with that slit slowed wit of the starved sentry standing stoic slink to the skirt slip to the side seasons stay still slither into sublime sound of the stunning -J
a study in sour
grotesque isn’t it grotty self sick pour it thickly over my eyes steep my submerged locks smear it into the hidey holes of my weeping pores a blocked airway with the pungent concoction ooze from my parted lips a putrid pout a foulness follows a pause pretty pathetic the stench lingers briefly -J
“luck”
I think I was born under a lucky star. There is no other explanation for the magical shit that happens to me. Either that, or it is the four four-leaf clovers I have been gifted over my glimpse of a lifetime I have never found one myself. I wonder about this luck then, for it…
trip.
I don’t know what to write about right now because I’m high, and that’s okay, because this is a private piece of prose perhaps. It depends where it leads down today the path behind the fern trees and orange chrysanthemums pass the poplar grove gold beams on moss the saccharine river with its trifling smirk…
sweetbread dreams
dandelion tea & sweetbread not sweet bread my dears shall we go? down the path of hesitation what am I doing here? who the hell are you? what the fuck is this! a sweet turnaround is always gentle a calming wash of cool gas too close to your nose it could freeze off your hairs…
sea you again
the sunburnt man who set me atop of his yacht, a pretty plaything curled around to make his friends stiff, I leapt from that floating prison. the fisherman who left for weeks on end, returning with insatiable desire and desperation for my body, I battled out from his tentacle clutches. the surfer boy who showed…
three fleeting thoughts
“entwine” like the flowers whose faces glow for the sun extending their yearning I stretch my fragile tendrils to you aching for an atomic speck over eons of light years through the gaping absence across time towards mine twirling -J “the pearl” crystal cunt coldly unyielding slips down your throat like oysters devouring saltwater secrets…
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something fantastical 