

Fantasynight festival summer city street lit the same chemical orange as sunset night air soaked naptha smoke trailing down oily streets flames on a chainFantasy
swung by fire jugglers.
acrobats bodies flicker against the bricks a branded man
scars crescents rings
no metal
no ink. just flesh
and he no older than that
tiredly I think old-woman thoughts:
god damn, son. if its scars you want Ill trade you skins.
even his ear lobes weighted with spools there is no part of his


Speaking Ill of the DeadIf to be dead is to experience nothing, then you are dead.Speaking Ill of the Dead
You probably dont even remember where or when
you mislaid yourself. Floating along
in a formaldehyde jar,
Pickled with sorrow, looking out at us through the murk of your own eyeballs,
Twin gobs of clear jelly deprived of sugar or fruit.
Those years at your knee crooning dirty jokes in our ears
And serving us rancid cakes at every meal. You bet I speak ill of you.
I speak ill of your illness, and I don't mean kidney failure.


Totem TortugaLa tortuga swims inexorably through my consciousness, chastening me with his ageless stare.Totem Tortuga
Where is the hare? I ask. I always try to be irreverent when I am nervous or guilty.
Dead, comes the reply.
He pities me like the hare: my warm blood, my short and hasty life.


The Tin WomanA galvanized dress with rivets the only ornament Watch me ratchet up the yellow lane steam brimming my tin bonnet The simplest of machines I need only the occasional smithys patchThe Tin Woman
and some oil in my sockets.
Like the woodsman, I walk and labor but without questioning the worth of the scrap metal parts he sold for, wending down the years with an axe
affixed to my shoulder, unbothered by the dearth of heart, unmoved to shed
a single oily drop
The straws been fed to the cows, the lions in the zoo but whatever became of the littl


Bones and BouldersI hear that the clavicle fairy is building a castle out of our necks and shoulders.Bones and Boulders
This pendulum toandfro is getting old. hearts hang from collar marrow and they strike arthritis dust out of the surrounding hills they bleed ink out of greasy sunsets too many clenched fists and I always hold my breath.
(I hear that the clavicle fairy is building towers out of dental floss and fishing line she's digging moats and filling them with perspiration.)
I hear the clavicle fairy is building a castle out of bones and boulders. Our


soles and souls are thisSlap crunch - it was just me, nose diving into pavement cracks before the three women in aprons and designer shoessoles and souls are this
+ a push chair
laughed me off the back street.
They hold their futures in the backs of their heavy thighs.
Breath harder -
Four years ago I was sixteen, three blond haired girls called me 'slag' in the bus station at seven oh ten PM.
They liked cigarettes and skipping school, I didn't
like running
But I had to. Scream louder -
I wanted to tell some of these people to watch the sun-clipse and understand love is a cheesy k
Devious Comments
so im only a few hours away
--
The next sentence is true.
The previous sentence was false.
"Sharks don't sleep and I don't take my eyes off you."
-Sweet Dreams, Sweet Cheeks by Los Campesinos!
--
Declare, or shut the fuck up.
-Deadwood
--
Declare, or shut the fuck up.
-Deadwood
--
The next sentence is true.
The previous sentence was false.
"Sharks don't sleep and I don't take my eyes off you."
-Sweet Dreams, Sweet Cheeks by Los Campesinos!
--
It is a defeat of the spirit to learn that one's arrogance causes such loss and pain. Pride invites you to soar heights of personal triumph, but the winds are stronger at those heights and the footing tentative. Farther then is the fall.
--
Declare, or shut the fuck up.
-Deadwood
--
"I thrive best hermit style, with a beard and a pipe."
Visit my etsy shop! [link]
--
No WaI mAn!!1!!!!11
Clubs:
~ph-fans ~Leashes-Of-Love ~Rule-of-Rose
--
Declare, or shut the fuck up.
-Deadwood
--
No WaI mAn!!1!!!!11
Clubs:
~ph-fans ~Leashes-Of-Love ~Rule-of-Rose
--
Declare, or shut the fuck up.
-Deadwood
--
"And now I see with eye serene, the very pulse of the Machine." -William Wordsworth
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