He was speaking in skins. Lifting weights on every breath. Waiting for the rotten fruit to become edible again. Bartenders in some fairy tale of blinking eyes that never happen to see what's staring at them.
Hearing the stop sign, but deciding not to listen.
Life. Like bubble gum breaking between careless lips. Stuck to faces that quickly forget.
Laughing sadly about the many haunted houses we've slept in to get to this one.
The stones seek their language. In bit and pieces. The doctor is overcome by his medicines. Tongues. Like treasure maps. Counting the steps to heaven.
She imagines the cradle in the tree rocking. Full of hope someone has to hate.
Pop!
She continues chewing her gum. She loves the taste of nothing.
Cupid's on heroin saving up the methadone.
Wednesday
2/27/2008 02:38:00 AM
What is it like to speaking 'in skins'??
'Laughing sadly...'how does existances look like when you there with so much of past clinging with " weights lifing in your brain??"
How hard does it get for the cigarette smoke to get in and out??
Or is it all a question of yeilding endlessly to tidal waves and long hours of barenness??
speaking in skins would be a metaphor for touching. when we touch we speak with our skins.
everything i try to say is really quite obvious. not nearly as cryptic as i try to make it seem.
in the end, they're just words. gallows for zombies.
don't read too much into it. writing is just another drug. i'm bound to abuse it.
thanx for all your comments.
Ive read some of your poems. but this poem is what made me bookmark ur site. i love your work. im just starting to get my notebooks out and posting them.
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