Posted: Wednesday, September 23, 2009 | |

That is the hum of a human train,
from this balcony, the last
open before witching hours

and the swollen panes of face flesh that
rise to an occasion
any, all

the disease of balloon dreaming

I once dreamed of something more domestic than this, not instead of this, but that somehow this would give way to that soft thing organically if only one moved the pieces, but I don't think so. I tried before, in my little girl way of big dreams and big loves and it all ended up in the abyss afforded to pipe dreaming. (this ain't no chess game and you ain't got no right)

my mouth hurts and I dream of violence



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