Sunday, January 24, 2010
Under the weather he cut me open I am something stranger deeper in. Augers and painted saws bore further he'll pin my broken limbs to the door of the barn. Fingers as firewood and kneecaps as horseshoes. Slice it thicker and thinner and thicker again I can be built by alteration.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
I will paint myself a coat I will paint your fingers to my chin I will paint a million eyes upon my breast I can not be satisfied by mere skin Let me keep you on my body I will not lose you there
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Whatever beneath some material we lay. Like broken stripes of light we hover before refracting and as I had always thought, we never stop bending. Even smudged by matter and building our layers slowly we can always be assured that our posture is moaning. If I scrape together enough of myself in fractured pieces perhaps I'll find you in the curvature of form.